#clawing rending screaming SHE THOUGHT IT WAS A DREAM

[flowerflamestars]

Migration Patterns snippet

Mostly asleep, but too near waking to be insensate, Elle turned her cheek into his touch, soulmark suddenly pressed to Jason’s palm.   Everything stopped. There was only this: warmth. If he let himself think it, Jason had imagined his half a little like the ocean. Too much, no matter how he tried to bottle it. Fresh water and salt water: where currents met, where color muddled, both and neither. Tidal Eleanor, ceaselessly making it make sense.   All that existed in Elle, just awake enough to reach, was no drowning depth. Just a certain light. Glowing and burning. Incandescent. New and old- not love yet, love already- spark bright interest that could not fade to embers, a thousand soft shades of safe.   Jason’s brain and Jason’s body all in one for once: a country with no borders, Elle an endless expanse of sky.   And then she rolled. Curled small enough not to fall, one arm outstretched.   Jason felt reality start to intrude before her eyes even opened. It was the cold, probably- insistent search that grasped only the cool leather of Jason’s jacket instead of a body in bed, and yanked anyway.   It was no distance to travel.   Just Elle’s grip, ferocious- just air, escaping Jason’s lungs in something so much worse than panic- Elle, on the threshold, a honey sweet dream turned caramel burnt before it cooled to snap in two, all at once- Elle woke up.   Adjusted, softened, let go to hook her fingertips in the collar of his t-shirt, expression unspeakably, unmistakably, fond for a minute before she blinked. Ran the back of her hand up his neck for half a second, and then-   Elle really woke up, drawing back.   “Shit. Sorry. Sorry. I thought”- She flung herself upright, steel-toed boots thudding not unpleasantly against Jason’s side. Elle frowned. “Where are we?”

#drawing little glittery hearts on my draft: this is a LOVE STORY #what I love best about the chapters when they're not really talking is just. #they're so bad at it??! #Jason Todd could out stubborn batman but Elle says one word to him #and there he is #falling right back into it all #that's a soulmate baby! #the person it's easy with even when its so so hard #clawing rending screaming SHE THOUGHT IT WAS A DREAM #she is SO flustered actually #touching his neck? cmon #Jason meanwhile having a two tone revelation about the state of Feelings while also having so kind of deranged thought about being #a shitty person for peeking #BUT ALSO JUST LIKE. SO HAPPY #there's so much drama here but it's also just like. #Jason noticing she's wearing steel toed boots and grinning about it #that's his girl! #Migration patterns of turdidae

[kingmaker-a]

Winter without Fireflies | Yu Jimin

Non-Idol AU

Previous: Like a Moth to a Flame

Warnings/Tags: Angst, guilt and regret. Alcohol usage, cheating (?), longing for your friend's partner. Things aren't going well for Jimin.

Summer has since faded to winter, the night lost between the two of you seems all but a distant memory in the torrid affair that is adulthood. Still the scars linger in their own way, life never goes to plan does it?

Word count: 3k

Genre: Angst

Winter, the complete package. 

Snowflakes dance and twist with the grace of a ballerina, beautiful yet frighteningly impermanent. Frost creeps along every surface, marring windows into a frosty frigid embrace caked with ice. 

For some people it’s their favorite time of year, the holiday season, a time for family and friends, for merriment to be had and for-

Death and loss, as nature bleeds and fades against the coldest touch. 

But as her fingers grip tight against whatever soft hallowed warmth she can cling to, she also realizes it’s also the season of absence. 

A thought that smolders against the dying embers of a dream, a memory and her throat clamps up, dragged over the sharp edge of jagged ice. 

Pain rends true, as her teeth clench, tears claw at her eyes with an icy frost. It’s like trying to see through foggy, frozen glass as her hands reach desperately against the embers of memory. 

The embers of summer, of love and life, the taste of heated tarmac on concrete as the air scorches or the embrace of cold beer as the air finally chills.

Embers of you, tangled in her embrace. 

Her tears are icy trails, freezing against her skin with a frosty burn. 

It was months ago. 

So, why does it feel like yesterday? 

Her smile is sunlit in spite of the tangled mess of her blanket, iridescent in spite of her irritated dry skin and bedhead.

 She preens against the morning sunlight, clambering forward with a languid, cat-like yawn. 

Her eyes remain nestled against the edge of sleep, barely brimming against the warmth. She presses her cheek against the neck of pocketed heat. 

“I was thinking~” she churns with the idea of breakfast, arms snaking around with a soft gentle touch and-

You're gone. Her hands claw at sheets, desperation reeks into every motion staining her hands, as if the pain that sinks, poisons her heart can change fate or reality. A choked scream rings in her throat, hollow and pained as tears well at her eyes with a stabbing pain.

It unravels at her touch.

Her blood runs cold, even the sun is a candle that is snuffed out, replaced with the infinite cold void. 

Her eyes snap open, clambering to her feet in a smoldering rush. Her own words ring with a screech. 

“We can’t.”

Blood rushes to her head at the suddenness, the world spins, she stumbles, latching onto the door frame. There’s a nascent hope, primal and barely alive.

Maybe you were having a shower or making breakfast like so many lost nights before?

Silence bristles against her skin, it’s cruel in its touch, pitiless in your absence.

Her words ring through her head, dangerous like a caustic smoke. Her mind lingers on Minjeong; the reason.

A knock rings, her door lacks the warmth of summer, it’s gone, painted a pale blue; locked with cold. 

It thrums again with a familiar pattern, your knuckles crest her brain and her breath hitches. She claws for her phone as she unlatches the deadbolt. 

Her phone is dismissive, no response. 

Like everyday since. 

Her lips purse, curling into the slightest frown. 

It’s been months. 

Her fist clenches, fighting the urge to crumple against the floor like discarded paper. 

Perhaps that is all she was, all she'll be. 

A hand waves in front of her face, ringing with the clinking of keys. 

“Hello, earth to stupid cheese cat.”

She’s all smiles ramshackled in a trench coat that almost looks too big on her, too bad the ginger twinge of her hair makes her look flawless. 

Minjeong. 

She makes a show of plastic bags filled to the brim with takeout, her eyes linger against Jimin’s, wincing when she does. 

“Stupid, depressed cheese cat?” she offers a hopeful twitch of a smile. 

Jimin rolls her eyes, crosses her arms. It’s always her. 

Minjeong strides in without missing a beat; like she does every week. As if the sun hasn't shriveled up and the world hasn't gone dark and she's freezing in the cold. 

Because she isn't, even on twisted winter nights, she's warm. 

She hates the part of her that thinks about punching her in the face. 

How warm is blood? 

“Jeongie,” the nickname lingers like bile, corroding against her taste buds like acid. “Why are you here?”

Why do you keep coming? The words are unwritten on her tongue, too scared of the venom that would sink in. Her mouth hangs for a moment, but she can see the patient flicker in Minjeong’s eyes. 

A tentative candle. 

Fuck she hates I-she’s thankful a snarl never makes it’s way across her lips. 

Minjeong smiles, soothing like the soft touch of winter, a drizzle of rain in a drought. 

“Because,” she offers a container of takeout, chopsticks at the ready. 

“You’re my best friend.”

… 

Her brain coils, snapping around those words with a vice grip. 

Was she… a good friend? 

She snatches the container with a huff, dragging her feet to her table. Street lights slowly flicker to life outside her window, her eyes linger against foggy condensation. 

Minjeong’s container clatters to the table with a tossed smile, she practically sinks into your spot. 

“You know, you're not the type to get so hung up on some guy.” Her words prod and poke like her chopsticks. 

It strikes a nerve. 

“I never said it was a guy,” she can hear the echo of her own laughter, cast in the warmth of your company. The words trace across her lips with a ghostly touch. 

This time. 

“What was that?”

A frown freezes across her lips, tightening ever so slightly as she avoids Minjeong’s gaze. 

There's the slightest flicker of a smile, haunted by the taste of half cold takeout. She can still remember your disapproving look as it melted, caught in the flame of an honest confession. 

She grumbles, “I never said it was a guy.”

Minjeong’s hand traces the outline of Jimin’s, it’s tender and caring like fresh snowfall. 

“Right, that's my bad.” Her eyes linger for a second, head clocking to the side, twisting over a thought. “What was the nickname you settle-”

“Firefly.”

It’s sudden, gripping like spontaneous combustion, caught awash in waves of memories. She hates the way it saunters with warmth, trickling through the cold, cutting air. 

There's a flicker of acknowledgement, of recognition cast in the hum of phone light. 

“Have you tol-'' her words are diced by another notification, caught on the hook of a surprised arch of her brow. 

Your face burns into her mind. It weighs heavy against her shoulders, a lingering guilt and a hateful resentment. 

The worst part is she didn't know if it was meant for her or Minjeong. 

“No…” the word freezes solid in the air, choking at the rational explanation. 

Lies aren't her forte, aren't her thing. 

…Still, all this pretense, all this dancing around the whole thing is not technically a lie. 

But it feels like a sin all the same. 

To deny herself of her feelings, to pretend like she didn't fuck things up–It hurts the way, the edge of the knife cuts at her tongue, a double edged sword because what did she actually fuck up? 

Her friendship with Minjeong?

She may not notice the creak of wood, but the foundation of their friendship is built on rotten wood. 

… Or maybe it’s the fact, she screwed up her chance to be with you? 

Even if it was only for a moment. 

Her teeth clench, eyes faltering against Minjeong. She can trace the small smoky wisps of frost that puff past her lips, eyes unfocused, distracted thankfully. 

Minjeong’s phone grinds against the table with a call. 

She rolls her eyes, “jeez, I don't respond to a text straight away and she's already calling me.”

Her lips tighten, pursing into a fine edge. Though, Jimin can still pluck out the fragments of a smile. 

“Sorry,” Minjeong whispers, holding her phone between her fingers. 

She puts the receiver to her ear, a smile blooming across her lips. “Geez, Aeri give a girl a seco-”

Her eyebrows crimp together, a familiar confusion lingers in her eyes. 

“Where am I?” Her eyes trace a watch she doesn't own. “I’m at Jimin’s…”

Her words putter and fade, drowned against the waves of a pained wince, she wasn't supposed to say that. One of the few conditions Jimin had laid down, to avoid questions from the rest of her friends.

Her eyes clamp shut as she takes a sharp breath, even Jimin can pick out the excited chatter on the other end. 

“Did I say Jimin? I meant… Jaemin,” her gaze shifts tentatively, daring a look at Jimin. 

It’s in that small bitter moment that she realises… 

It’s impossible to hate Minjeong, each word is heartfelt, every lingering glance is sincere. 

Perhaps that's what truly twists the knife she buried herself. It coils, catches against her skin, yet it’s the way Minjeong offers a mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, that nicks an artery. 

It bleeds profusely with a tar-like hatred, it burns and seethes against the skin of her heart. It blisters and crawls with a primal disgust.

She is everything she hates.

A bad friend.

“It’s okay,” she offers, her smile tentative, small, but real.

Minjeong hushes her cell phone, cradling it in the crook of her neck. There's a plushyness to her smile, an almost cocky, yet daring coyness. An idea stands on the precipice of her tongue, yet her eyes remain, shaky and uncertain. 

Should she dare? 

“It’s been awhile since you've come to girl's night.”

Too caught with dates in the past, too caught up on icy bruises in the present. 

It’s a statement, not a question. 

A hallmark of Minjeong. 

Jimin rolls her eyes, lingering on her fridge. How was her stash holding up? 

Her eyes flit back to Jimin. 

“Who’s paying?”

Try as Minjeong might, even the Martians on Mars can see her barely restrained giddiness as if she’d burrow a hole through Jimin’s kitchen floor otherwise. 

Her smile peeks through tightened lips, as she holds the phone to her ear. 

“Jimin wants to know if you're paying.”

She can't already imagine Aeri’s Oscar worthy groan, as if she didn’t miss the company of her dear friend. 

Minjeong’s smile bursts through its chains, her hand grasping against Jimin’s with a vibrant eagerness. 

“This is gonna be so fun!”

…Your night is going well.

 Correction, it was going well is a more apt statement. 

The marr of sleep crusts your mind, calcified with echoes of brooklyn nine nine reruns. 

Your phone screen burns with the time.

3am and an ignored number, texts washed away by the seasons, frozen by the frigid cold. It wails incessantly, stoking your brain.

Looks like an early night wasn’t on the table.

You think about tossing it to the wayside, along with any of the texts that always dared the edge of your mind.

You know better… it has to be important, why else would she ring?

Still you’re hesitant even as you accept the call, an awkward silence hangs in the air, choking at any response that forms.

You wonder, if you’ve even answered it in time.

 Perhaps god had taken the wheel and deemed the interaction unnecessary.

But you catch the way her breath hitches, imagine the smile that must dot her lips. 

No matter how long it’s been you can still taste her lips against yours, an abandoned luxury.

There’s a familiar, soft, beautiful, snowflake-like giggle. It’s fleeting in its touch to your ear, but even though it’s been so long, you know she’s drunk. 

Still, you can pluck out the edge, the deep inhale, the focus. The cold bite that is simply business.

It kills the questions that dare the edge of your tongue, to ask her how she’s been, to apologize despite it all.

Even if it isn’t really your fault.

There’s a huff and you simply wish it’s something else, like she’d forgotten her phone was even on.

The silence aches.

“Your girl is drunk.”

Her fingers trace over cool sapphire hues, snow pirouettes in her somber presence. A scowl dots her lips. 

It snags, coils against fresh annoyance. It isn’t like Minjeong to drink too much. To get lost in the midst of it all. 

She isn’t one to talk, caught in the solace of loneliness. 

A rooftop, all to herself. 

Away from Aeri’s prying questions and how she was definitely better off.

If only she knew who she was talking about. 

Her brain trails over the spark that started it all, just a simple phone call. 

The world spins as she adjusts herself, it’s a whirlwind blur. 

How the fuck was she getting home? 

Did you ask the same question many months ago? 

… She wouldn't dare to ask Minjeong, your incidental company would be suffocating, like drowning in a coffin. 

A coffin she deserves.

“Jesus christ, you’re sloshed.”

A phone is hardly an olive branch, you know that much. But you're caught on the indulgence of it all, the way she smiles lost on the rim of a glass bottle. 

At first, she doesn't even spare you a glance, lost against the sweet succor of Ambrosia. 

Her eyes are hazy, drowning in the thick of it. She traces the sky like fluttering butterflies, her smile sinks, fading into the snow. 

She's drunk, you were told as much. 

You can't help the smile that burns across your lips as her head cocks to the side. 

She's lost on the details. Your blurry silhouette cast in the limelight of it all. 

She stumbles as she stands up, trudging with the uneven grace of someone who is well and truly sloshed. 

It’s not until her hand claws against your shoulder - as she nearly slips - that she can strain the details. She flutters so desperately close, you can taste each hop on her breath and you nearly lose yourself in her. 

But she stops you, eyebrows knotting together as she snaps away from you.

She nearly slips again, but you catch her, your arm looping around her waist. 

Confusion lingers on her features with the softest smile. 

Though you wouldn't exactly call it gentle, like a snowflake. 

“What are you doing here?” 

There’s something in the way that her voice saunters - plucked at the edges of angelic harp - that reminds you, she glows in her own way.

You smile, you try to at least. But a chuckle snags at the edges of practiced porcelain and she brims with warmth.

It’s hard to fight the way she just coils around you in the slightest ways. She preens under your gaze, dulcet and sweet.

You offer her phone.

This isn’t how you expected everything to go. There should be fire and anger, caught against the torrid slow slip of a secret. 

But Minjeong isn’t here.

Though you suppose she always knew.

“You called me,” you have to fight the bark of laughter that bites at your throat. Her hands pat her pockets, clambering through rifled pockets. 

“Technically, at least.”

Her eyebrow quirks as her lips quiver and twitch. The words are lost to her as her mouth hangs agape. You can hear the slightest curl of her voice as it claws across the snow dusted floor. 

You see it in her brow first. It cascades to the bridge of her nose as it scrunches and her lips tighten. 

There are no fireflies in winter, there is no warmth in the cold clutches of snow. 

But she glows nonetheless. She burns, a magma hot red as her hand tangles against your collar. 

She tugs violently, leveling a scorching glare at your soul. Her phone clatters and cracks against the concrete pavement. 

You would happily ignite yourself in her sunlight. 

“What about Minjeong?” 

You bite back a smirk, devilish and annoying. There is no point to unnecessary evil. 

Your touch is delicate, soft like fresh morning dew after frost. Your hands graze her cheeks, she's a moron. 

“God, you really are a stupid cheese cat.”

There's a flare of a nostril, an arch of a brow and a flash of annoyance that sears into her features. You can't help the smile that settles on your lips; as she melts, softening ever so slightly into your touch. 

Her eyes linger on you with a glassy softness and you swear you can see the hazy flicker of her thoughts. Her gaze catches against your lips for the briefest of moments. 

To give into temptation on her second chance. 

She takes a deep breath, refocusing. Even if it is like dragging an anchor through the desert. 

She rolls her eyes, as if the insult was just spoken. Her grip tightens, tangles deeper against your collar. 

She's picturesque cast in sapphire, the air that lingers between you, ripe with the taste of beer and other ill begottens. 

The seasons may be different and the roles may be reversed, but did she feel as you do now? 

Is that why she asked about Minjeong? 

It is such a her mistake to make. 

Words cut like the cold bite of the winter night air.

“We broke up nearly a year ago.”

It’s messy and torrid, you half expect the sting of pain against your cheek as her eyes flare. It crackles in her eyes like looming thunder on a humid summer night.

Her teeth clench tight, twisting into a scowl. The haze of alcohol curls through her thoughts like a murky smoke.

She explodes.

Lips spark against yours, sizzling with a frenetic, desperate edge. You’re caught in the storm of it all, her lips are messy and drunk.

She threatens to drown you as her fingers curl through your hair, to rub your lips raw with swelt. 

Snow clings to you both in that moment, fluttering and fleeting; they soak into every stray crevice. There’s the slightest bite of teeth against your lower lip, awkward and unintentional.

You can’t help the smile that blisters and burns.

But she’s hungry, ravenous, daring to eat you alive like an all consuming flame. Still, she pulls away, fights against her very nature to consume you, forehead pressed against yours. 

It’s cute the way she pouts, nose wrinkling ever so slightly. Though even the small flame of a candle is cute, compared to the emblazoned heat of a forest fire.

She smiles, snowflakes and stars, glisten and sparkle almost as if by her command, caught in the sea of sapphire blue light.

“We’re both stupid,” she offers.

You’d have it no other way.

#aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #girl group scenarios #aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #karina imagines #karina scenarios #yu jimin imagines #yu jimin scenarios #aespa #aespa karina #kpop imagines #girl group imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop x reader

[elderdragonapologist]

Its time for Kralkatorrik’s weapons flavor text :3 Direct text in image: Kralkatorrik's Rending   “I never feared the possibility... I never feared anything.”

Kralkatorrik's Flight “Mother” Kralkatorrik's Wing “As the shard impaled her, a scream flickered in his mind.”   

Kralkatorrik's Gaze “Her child reached out to me, to my mind. She was curious.” Kralkatorrik's Claw   “Small game wasn’t enough. He craved more. He craved the fight.”

Kralkatorrik's Bite “Glaust...”  

Kralkatorrik's Weight “In that final moment, he looked for her.”

Kralkatorrik's Tail “And in his wake there was nothing but crystal and blood.” 

Kralkatorrik's Argument   “In that moment, she didn’t look at me with fearful eyes.” Kralkatorrik's Persuasion “Cracks of lightning and dark clouds emcompassed him like plated armor.”   Kralkatorrik's Wisdom   “The crazed god’s lust for power was admirable, albeit misguideded.” Kralkatorrik's Scale   ”A flicker of light at the corner of my eye. For a moment, I thought it was her.” Kralkatorrik's Insight “When her cheek hits the ground, she’ll come to understand the cost of betrayal.” Kralkatorrik's Fang   “And he slept among the rolling hills. A mountain, he lingered there.” Kralkatorrik's Breath   “I saw it, in a dream. The great peace... It disgusted me.” Kralkatorrik's Voice   “I outgrew them so quickly, she barely had time to mourn my departure...” 

#kralkatorrik #kralkatorrik legendaries #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 screenshot #aaaa my baby dragon boy #i love him and these are interesting

[nieithryn]

@prodijedi asked: [ nightmare ] Dooku wakes [CALISTA] up from a nightmare

It was so cold. The winter had settled on this world firmly, and the chill cut through his robes. The camp of Mandalorians below hardly seemed like the sort of force that would do the sorts of things they were accused of, but he had been wrong before...but there was something wrong. Something in the Force felt off, something was- He reached to get Dooku's (Papa...papa please...) attention, though Vosa (Komari? What are you doing!?) was already speaking, challenging, and suddenly a shout- the Mandlaorian's leader had arrived, Fett he thought his name was - and the Force exploded into motion around them. The battle had begun.

A low, keening noise escaped the padawan, red hair soaked in sweat. It was hardly the first nightmare, and would likely be far from the last, but it was...consuming. The incomplete impression of a memory that had shot down the length of their shattered, shredded Bond to wrap around the only surviving half. The fingers of it closed tight around her very soul, the rending wounds bleeding tears of agony onto her pillow as she dreamed. A truth that was not true...a truth that was all too true.

It was so cold. His lightsaber was out of reach...not that he could have used it. He was choking on blood. He could have laughed; he had only been brought for his negotiating skills...not for his bladework. It was so cold. He was dying. (He was dying! No, that could not be!) It was...so cold.He was dying.... (Master? Master!?)

She woke screaming.

A bone-deep chill had taken hold of her, delicate fingers grasping with shocking strength to the thing around her. The shaking of her hands was almost violent, the look in her crystal blue eyes wild. Unseeing, her gaze wandered the rooms that - until recently - she had shared with her Master, and now were her sole domain until her grieving was manageable. Then they settled, uncomprehending, on a barren piece of wall.

Slowly, she became aware that the thing she was grabbing (knuckles white, fingers more like claws, clutching as if she might drown if she let go) was a familiar, warm presence. Slowly, she became aware that it was her father. At the edge of her awareness, she thought she could hear (feel?) the deep, smooth rumble of his voice.

It took her long, long moments to fall against her father's chest, heaving in breaths. Tears were flowing from her eyes, unnoticed. Her shoulders shook.

When she finally spoke, her voice came raw and weak, as if she had been screaming a long time. It came flat, as if all the emotion had drained out of her. It came tired, as if she had not been sleeping mere seconds (only seconds?) ago.

"...th-thank you, Papa..."

#(I saw this ask and absolutely HAD to answer it tonight Calista DEMANDED IT) #(Dooku can have deeply traumatized empath daughter who is like uhhhh 16???) #ic: Compromise & Justice (Calista) #v: Like My Parents Before Me #t: prodijedi (01) #prodijedi

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 5

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud and the Whalers, some Daud/Outsider on the side

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Werewolf!AU :: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers.

Notes: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Daud goes back to where it began, spurred to action by the Outsider’s words.

AO3 link

Previous :: First :: Next

____________________________________

Dunwall

Month of Songs, 1820

He was running. He was running, throwing his surging body forward, every step pounding into the ground with the force of a full stampede. The scent of blood, of fear, was heavy in his nose; it drove his senses to a pinpoint, beckoning him onward. Weariness fled from him as his skin was shed, scars blazing and teeth shining with a manic light. He breathed and his body breathed with him, contracting and expanding, growing with every filled lung. He gulped air like a whale before the plunge; muscles rippled, launching, claws ready to rend, to tear, to savor.

He was a killer; he was born for this. His prey was fully unaware; fur flew and bone crushed and his jaws longed for the warmth of blood, the tender tear of flesh rending between his teeth. A limb was shorn from its body easily and his long nose plunged into the cavity left behind, rooting for soft, vulnerable organs. He closed his eyes and worshiped the entrails he found within. He was drunk on it, drowning in the life-giving red water, offering reverence to both god and devoured flesh. Somewhere far away, a whale keened; he bellowed his own song, body rippling with the sound as it morphed into a roar, then a scream. His voice dripped with Void but still the whales cried and burned; he could feel their dying songs reverberating in his ears, his whole body resonating with the call.

------

Daud lurched forward, gasping for air, returning to the surface of his dreams. His body was slick with sweat and smoke and his nose burned with the smell of burning oil. Whalesong mixed in his ears with another unearthly sound, a keening note that he realized, belatedly, was a sundering howl ripped from his own throat. He fell from the bed, all too aware of his teeth clashing, his claws ripping, his body shaking from an exertion he didn't know it was experiencing until now.

He tried to still his panicking mind but his body spasmed of its own accord, as if trying desperately to break free of it's human-shaped prison. He fought for lucidity against the instinctive desire to shift into something else. He bit down on his tongue, rolling it through too-long teeth, and clenched his left hand so painfully it bled. He tasted iron on his lips and gasped out, trying not to fall apart at the literal seams.

Human, human, you're still human , he reminded himself, trying desperately to convince whatever shift was happening to reverse itself. A dark part of his mind snarled back, telling him he was only lying to himself, that humanity was now beyond him--but he snuffed it out, shaking his head as the world swam with void and smoke. He clenched his fist even tighter; he snarled and his scars smoldered like they would sear his face right off, but he finally got his body to settle. Claws melted away, fur and ears and snout left on a non-existent breeze. His chest exhaled; with it, the beast succumbed, returning to rest in the coil of his ribcage. His limbs shook, his body was slick with sweat. He wanted to be sick.

When he pounded his fist into the flooring, the wood creaked, splinters biting into his skin.

A week. He'd had this Mark for a bloody week and still, everyday was a fight. A fight against a body that didn't want to be confined to skin, with claws that itched to grow, with teeth that begged to be bared. The Mark on his hand and the whispers of the Void that were supposed to help him maintain this mess seemed only to encourage the beast of him. His dreams were vivid bloodbaths coaxing the monster to burst from his skin. The Outsider had wondered how long Daud could control the beast; Daud wondered if he even had control to begin with.

His hand seized and he shook it, flexed it, then concentrated. His breathing returned to normal, his shivering stopped. He willed those claws to grow long and deadly before whispering them away again. He watched as the inky black fur broke apart and turned to ash, as if the fur wasn't made of hair, but actual voidstone, muttering secrets even as it dissipated away. Daud frowned, sat back on his legs, and closed his eyes.

This time, he felt for the Void. He searched for it with purpose, his hand the part of him that was allowed to plunge across the barrier. The chill was bone deep, the pain of it followed by a tingling pressure that begged him to stop-- but he found it. The tendril of magic he was searching for. He tugged on it like a spider testing its web, following the vibrations towards its intended goal.

Daud kept his eyes closed until he felt the cold burn up his arm, filling him with magic. When he opened his eyes, the world's colors were muted but her secrets lay bare; people far below him either still slept or paced paths around their beds. Scent trails wafted in front of him, the smells of whales, of oil, of burnt skin traveling through his apartment. When he blinked again his normal color vision returned, the murmur in his ear fled from him, and his mark faded from a bright screaming white back down to a faded black.

He drew breath and heavy air filled his lungs; a cold hand materialized on his scarred cheek and he stilled, blinking, until a smirking figure appeared before him fully. He swallowed, still very aware of his position on the floor, and lifted his gaze to meet endless black.

"My, learning something new today?" the Outsider asked calmly, stroking a thumb across Daud's cheek. The sensation of the touch across his scars sent a shivering jolt all the way down to his feet and he gasped at the sensation. He tried to regain composure, tried to scowl at the god.

"It's not like I've been given many instructions," Daud complained. "So I've had to learn to take what I can get when I find it."

"You have been quite busy seeking out my shrines," the Outsider noted. "But they are easier to listen for than to see. This new power will help you hear their songs. Once your ears hear it, you will know. And you will be drawn to them."

Thin fingers moved from his face to his hair, carding through the loose black strands and Daud's eyes slid closed, his body entranced under the touch. It was soothing and suffocating; he let himself be set adrift, the current pulling him where it wished. The Outsider smiled.

"A mother from Pandyssia, and the bastard father she murdered on her way to Serkonos. She was called a witch, people thought she worshipped me. But she didn't; you knew it was all slander. You didn't even believe I really existed." He drew his hand away and Daud whined, unbidden. Free of the trance, he stood up; the Outsider floated above the flooring, his shadow immeasurable.

"Why believe in a god that didn't pay attention to us, or the suffering of others? It was pointless."

"And yet, here I am. In truth, I'm glad you weren't devout. Would have made it so much less interesting to approach you." The Outsider turned away, though Daud felt as if his hungry dead eyes were still watching his every move.

"Tell me, Daud, did you ever hear the fables of whale-wolves in your youth?"

Daud blinked. "My mother mentioned them under a different name. Wolfbanner, those cursed as wolves. It was fanciful, like anything from Pandyssia. I didn't pay it much mind as I aged, when I had other things to worry about."

"Like murdering your abusive captors," the Outsider supplied. He turned back to Daud, studying him. "Not your first kill, and not your last." He disappeared, reappearing at Daud's side, facing the opposite direction. A hand hovered over Daud's arm, the sensation of promised contact prickling against his skin.

"You are by far the most bloodthirsty of my Marked, the first in a long time."

There was a sadness there, but also an interest, a hunger. Daud leaned away a little, trying to meet the Outsider's eye.

"How many have you Marked?"

"There are a few in every age. You are one of six, all scattered in the Isles. The last time I marked someone, you were still a babe in Serkonos. The last time one of my Marked died, it was here, under this very city, just over a year ago." His face fell serious, a terrible gaze that chilled Daud to the bone.

"The one Fink found," Daud surmised, and the Outsider's form flickered dangerously. He chose to dissipate, forming again to sit on Daud's bed, a foot resting over the opposite knee.

"My whale-wolves are not the playthings of men. They are individuals who make their own lives, their own paths, their own choices. According to legend, the original were whales that left the water to walk on land; they possessed humans, and their form changed to suit their bodies and their environment. It was not so easy on the humans; they eventually lost their minds to the whale's overwhelming presence, ravaging their villages and infecting their others, and were ultimately killed." The Outsider looked away, his gaze far off.

"But that was thousands of years ago, when whales were more powerful. My Mark gives humans a fighting chance, but it also changes them forever. You are now more than you ever were before, Daud."

"I was quite fine being human, you know," Daud snarled. "I didn't want to become some furred whale that walks on land." The Outsider gave him a sad look.

"Unfortunately, few get to choose this path. Those who have the option of choice are rarer and more powerful than you could ever imagine. You could have been one but…" the Outsider flicked over to him again, his hands and eyes fixated on the scars marring his face. Daud inhaled sharply, not expecting the touch.

"But you were attacked before that choice could be offered to you. I'm sorry. So please, do not take what I've given you to waste."

The god's voice was barely a whisper, but so loud within his ears, like rushing water. He turned toward the Outsider, unbidden. That slender face smiled.

"What would you see me do, then?" He asked, eyes dark and entranced again.

"Return to where you started," the Outsider offered. "And keep your friends close. You will need them, soon."

And then, just like that, Daud was alone again. He shivered, his body alight in a very different sense, limbs tingling with phantom pain. He breathed, trying to ease his mind, but it was no use. He settled instead for a cold shower but all it did was remind him of those icy hands, the rush of water in the Void, and the whales that kept crying from their death row in the slaughterhouses.

------

Rulfio was early to his meeting with Daud by approximately ten minutes and 45 seconds.

Apparently, so was Daud.

This wasn't completely unlike the other assassin, if Rulfio was being honest. What was unlike Daud, however, was his vulnerable position-- sitting against the chimney, his arms resting on his knees, his mouth nervously rolling a new cig. Daud didn't even look at Rulfio as he cleared the roof, swinging his legs over the edge before straightening up.

There was no mask, this time. A welcome return to normalcy -- until, of course, Daud turned his head towards Rulfio. Without thinking, Rulfio's eyes shot over to Daud's scars and he stilled. His beard pulled into a frown and he crossed his arms; Daud sighed. The younger assassin didn't stand up, just kept sitting there, too open and languid.

"Do I even want to know the trouble you've been into since the last time I saw you?" The words were rough but held no venom; Daud responded by looking down and away, the shadow of a smile twitching on his lips as he pulled at his cigarette. The smoke billowed up as he breathed out.

"Maybe not. If I had the option of not knowing, I would take it, to be honest."

There was something ruined there in those words that gave Rulfio a pause. He unfolded his arms, instead opting to set his hands into pockets.

"Well, did you get it done, then? It's been near two weeks."

Daud nodded. He then dug into the bandolier at his chest and pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Rulfio, who caught it easily. He noted the red velvet of the purse's fabric, opened it to gold coins, and laughed.

"Steal everything but the bathtub?"

"I burned the house. The whole family is dead. Except, well…"

Rulfio tossed the bag up, catching it easily as it fell. "Well?"

Daud sighed. He shot Rulfio a look. "There was a kid."

Of course there was. "And where's the kid now?"

"In the hands of a physician. She was hurt, but she'll live."

"Have you been stalking her?"

Daud's expression went deadly sharp. Rulfio blinked; a dark emotion hung in those edges that he had never seen on Daud's face before. But then it passed and Daud just grimaced, puffing on the cigarette in his mouth.

"I've been trying not to. I don't need to interfere with a kid who's life I ruined."

"And yet you pulled her from a burning building after killing her parents."

"I wasn't gonna let her die, Rulf."

Fair enough. He tossed the coin purse again, finding the clinking pleasant in his ear. "Did that physician fix your face up too?"

"No, that was…" his hand clenched, as if his wrist hurt. "It healed on its own."

Rulfio knew a lie when he heard one. He laughed, waving at a bug hovering too near his ear. "Daud you're a better liar than that. If you have a secret, you can just keep it, you know." Interestingly, Daud's jaw worked; the fly in his ear grew more insistent. Rulfio wasn't the twitchy type --having a steady hand and low jumpiness made him great at his job-- but when he swatted and nothing flew from his hand, he turned his head, looking around. The air was empty, but the sensation tickling at his nerves remained. He scowled, and then caught Daud watching him curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Dunno," Rulfio confessed. "Thought it was a fly, or a mosquito. But there's nothing there."

Immediately the twinge on his nerves receded, but Daud remained far too impassive. Rulfio squinted at him, folding his arms in again.

It took a few ticks, but Daud finally twitched, his fingers moving back to his cigarette.

"What did you do?" Rulfio asked, like he was talking to a petulant child. Daud exhaled, the sound roughened with smoke.

"I need your help," he said, skirting the question. "It's not a contract, it's a… personal favor." His head tilted, his eyes softened. "I don't really have anyone else I can ask to come with me on this one."

Rulfio considered. If you asked him, he wasn't the superstitious type, but something wasn't right. Daud was acting strange. Void, how long did Rulfio think him dead? Long enough to come to terms with the fact that his partner was well and truly gone. Then he just reappeared, with that haunting face and those seeping, infected wounds, and things changed. To be honest, Rulfio isn't even sure if Daud was still real, or some phantom sent to haunt him.

"Sure, I'll help you out, Daud. I've owed you for a while, anyway." He settled down on the roof next to the scarred man, nudging his boot amicably. "What do you need to see to?"

Daud sighed, weary. He ran a hand over his hair.

"It's the Hound Pits. I have to go back there, look around. Something doesn't add up, like I missed something the first time around. I don't want to get my information crossed, but some of the papers I found in Fink's place allude to... unpleasant practices. " Daud pulled the papers he recovered and easily handed them to Rulfio. He took the proffered articles, smoothing his beard as he read. That insistence itched at the back of his skull, ringing like tinnitus.

Eyebrows up, Rulfio simply said aloud "do you mind?" while his eyes skimmed over the words, and was mildly surprised when the sensation obliged, backing off. The ache it left behind was dull, and Ruflio gave Daud a very pointed look.

Daud, to his credit, tried to remain neutral. Rulfio sniffed. Daud blinked innocently.

"Are you using some kind of magic on me, Daud?"

"Don't start with me, Rulf."

"Look I know you said your mom was from Pandyssia but--"

"Just read the damn articles," Daud growled out, "and maybe then I'll tell you."

Rulfio went back to the papers, smirking, but the smile fled as something dark settled into his chest. He read it, then read it again. He swallowed heavily and when he handed the papers back, he found his steady hand shaking.

"Jerome," he managed, "it says he changed? And that they were looking for assassins to…" he cast a nervous glance at Daud, who was watching him very carefully. Rulfio's gaze flicked to those gastly scars, the lines dragging over his face and across his jugular, and he could feel the sweat beading on his own forehead.

"What the fuck happened under the Hound Pits, Daud?"

Daud didn't blink, his expression dark.

"It's easier to show than tell on this one, Rulf."

------

The trip to the Hound Pits Pub took longer than Daud wanted it to. After a week, he was used to these powers taking him farther and faster than his own legs could, to the point where walking was an overt annoyance. However, he couldn't trust to show his powers to Rulfio, not yet, not until his fellow assassin fully understood why. So, by simple flesh and steel they both traversed the rooftops, knowing the routes through Dunwall better than anyone. Blessedly, Rulfio asked no questions on the way, letting Daud take the lead and direct Rulfio where they needed to go.

As they neared the establishment they settled down, carefully perching on a nearby apartment roof and simply observing. It was late afternoon, which meant the pub was getting ready for dinner and a long night of pleasantries. Someone in an upstairs apartment aired out some dirty laundry, getting spooked when she caught them lounging out of the corner of her eye. Daud grimaced, motioning to Rulfio; they hopped down after that, mingling with the streetside crowd.

"Go on inside," Daud suggested, as they eyeballed the front door of the Pub. "See if you can't distract the staff for a while. I'm going to scout around for where we need to go."

"And how will I know you're ready for me?"

Daud worried his cheek and resisted the urge to push his thoughts towards Rulfio. It was an addictive side effect, one he didn't totally understand or have control over, but he knew Rulfio's mind now, had a bead on it, and it would be so easy to…

"I'll come in and grab a drink myself," he supplied, pushing down the ache to reconnect to Rulfio's mind. "I'll grab a whiskey if I'm ready to go, a wine if not. How does that sound?"

Rulfio nodded, good with the plan, and Daud relaxed. He nodded, then eased back against the wall, pulling out a cigarette to light. He lounged casually, wearing a loose shirt over his bandolier to conceal the majority of his weapons and equipment. He waited until Rulfio disappeared, nursing his cigarette between his lips.

Then, he pulled the spent butt from his mouth, flicked it to the floor, and disappeared.

He transversed through the Void, his body leaping to a new location, again and again, effortlessly. He had been practicing with the power, honing the feel of it over the last week, his confidence growing with each successful jump. He allowed the power to flow through him now, breathing in the ash it left behind, feeling his chest swell with unspoken exhalation. He circled the Pub, gathered a loose key from an upper room, and disappeared briefly into the sewers connected to the establishment.

There, he let himself take a breath. His hand itched with long claws, his black gloves melting into oily fur. Daud looked around and sniffed; the sewers still stank, but not of death. Perhaps the rats or the hagfish got to last month's massacre, tearing apart any remains. He carefully traversed the tunnels, found the door he had used when he was first here, and unlocked it with the stolen key.

Then, as silently as a spectre, he slipped into the main body of the Hound Pits Pub.

The place was bustling, the smell and sounds of the brewery and its customers hitting him full force. He staggered for a moment, nose curling, before making his way to the broad chested Tyvian. He knocked on the counter and Rulfio glanced at him, but said nothing else.

"Can I get a whiskey?" Daud asked gruffly. "Dunwall's finest." The barkeep nodded, sauntering off to get the drink. Next to him, Rulfio shifted.

"There is a door to the sewers in the--" he whispered, but just then, the rabble rose up, drowning his words. He glanced at Rulfio, who shook his head. Of course, he hadn't heard him.

Daud huffed. And, without thinking, he shut his mouth tight and reached his mind out to Rulfio's.

"Adjacent brewery has a door to the sewers in the back. It's unlocked. No guards. I'll meet you there."

Daud could feel Rulfio's mind flickering through confusion, realization, shock, and-- the emotions flashed by so fast Daud's head felt heavy but he drummed on the counter and cleared his throat. As the barkeep brought his drink and he dropped his pay, he chanced a glance at Rulfio.

His partner's face was a wall. He was looking at Daud, his eyes unblinking, and Daud could sense the disbelief. He frowned; he needed to get Rulfio moving, damnit.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Daud growled, lifting a dangerous lip. Across the weak connection he felt confusion, then understanding. Rulfio cleared his throat, then shook his head.

"No sir, just thought I recognized you from somewhere."

"With these scars? I doubt it. Now back off."

Rulfio nodded and behind them, someone laughed. Daud turned away and nursed the whiskey; when he looked back, Rulfio was gone.

He dropped a tip, downed the rest of his glass, then exited the way he entered.

When Daud next met up with his fellow assassin in the sewers, Rulfio was livid. He grabbed Daud by his too-loose shirt, shaking him roughly, and snarled in Daud's face.

"What black magic was that? Where is the bone charm? Who gave it to you? Damn it all, Daud!"

Daud let himself be handled before carefully prying Rulfio's fingers off his shirt. He then pulled the shirt off, storing it near the door, and then checked his equipment and adjusted his hood.

"It's not a bone charm, Rulfio," Daud said, hating how strained his voice sounded. It was easier to count his bolts and darts than look at the dark, angry eyes of his partner in crime. "It's just how I am now, Rulf."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" There was the sound of a blade unsheathing, and Daud started, not expecting the weapon now pointed on him. Not Rulfio. His stomach dropped with the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd made a deadly mistake. He whirled towards his partner, putting his hands up.

"Rulfio, wait--"

The tip of Rulfio's dao blade pressed into his stomach, silencing him. Daud's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, unmoving.

"What were you doing in my head then? Are you like Jerome? In the note, how it said he could invade thoughts… is that what you're like now? Are you even Daud anymore?"

Daud licked his lips. He chose his words carefully; he really didn't think Rulfio wanted to see what would happen if he tried to spill his guts here and now. Daud didn't really want to see what would happen, either.

"Rulfio, I swear to you, I have not been body snatched, I'm not some weird animated corpse. I just need you to trust me--"

"Trust you, when you were coming in my head and talking to me? I didn't give you permission for that, Daud!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," he whispered lowly, his voice echoing against the water and the walls. Rulfio had no response to that, but the blade didn't move. Carefully Daud moved to take off his left glove. "I just want to show you, so that you don't make a terrible mistake, right here, right now."

"And why's that? You some witch now?" The sword pushed into his stomach.

"No, Rulfio-- fuck! I'm a Wolfbanner, I'm a cursed fucking whale-wolf!"

The silence at the declaration hung heavy between them. Rulfio then laughed, singular, in disbelief.

"Yeah, right. Those are just old wive's tales, Daud. There's…" but he trailed off, the look on Daud's face stony. Rulfio's eyes flicked to the scars. His hand shook.

"Let me show you, Rulfio." He tugged at his glove. Rulfio shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the motion. "Just please, don't gut me, that's all I ask."

The glove slid off. The Outsider's Mark gleamed. In a swarm of ash, black claws grew.

The sword clattered loudly to the floor.

Daud's jaw clenched tight, working as Rulfio stared, fascinated at the action. Worry crept in, and Daud took a step back for distance.

"I didn't want this, Rulf, but I'm not lying, and by some god-given power, I haven't gone completely insane. I didn't think--I'm not here to-- I thought I could trust you with this because I hate lying to you, Rulf."

"And the mind tricks? What is that?"

"I…" Daud clammed up, and had the audacity to feel ashamed. "I don't know. I just realized that I could reach out to someone else's head, read their emotions, talk to them. I'm still learning this shit and I'm sorry, Rulfio. You couldn't hear me and I just acted without--"

The thwip was near silent. Daud didn't catch it soon enough; the punch in his leg caused him to buckle and grunt. He looked down; the bolt stuck from his thigh at an odd angle, but the blood poured from it all the same. He groaned again as the pain burned down his leg and up his spine.

"Rulfio, what the fuck--"

But it wasn't Rulfio. Daud's second stood, watching agape as a second bolt hit his right arm, in the bicep. Daud growled in annoyance, the sound guttural in his ears. He could feel his teeth growing heavy and he gnashed them together as he pulled the first bolt out of his leg with his free hand.

"Rulfio," Daud rasped, feeling his mark burning and begging to be used. He dodged; another bolt whizzed past his head. "I swear, if you're in on this--" He didn't mean to sound so rough and angry but someone was shooting at him and he'd been too distracted to notice. But Rulfio just shook his head, his face pale. He reached for his sword but another bolt nearly struck his hand and he pulled back, cursing.

It was enough to make Daud's blood boil over. His fist clenched; with a snarl he was rushing forward, ignoring the pain in his limbs. There was an exclamation, but he was already too far to make out the words. Ugly claws sprouted as the world greyed; a body to his left lit up and he sneered, teeth sharp. The individual was slim, hooded; they realized how close Daud suddenly was and they stumbled back, surprised. Or perhaps, terrified.

It didn't matter. Daud's fist clenched and he pounced; another bolt whizzed past him, the shot going wide as Daud collided with his assailant. He pulled his blade out immediately, pulling it to the throat of--

Daud cursed and the person under him shuddered from where his hand lay clasped around her throat. Because now he knew it was a she; the long brown hair tied back in her hood and those sharp blue eyes were sign enough. He sighed out a growl, keeping his blade on her neck.

"Jordan. You better have a good explanation for this." He heard a yelp from Rulfio in the distance, the call of his name. Jordan sneered and Daud was suddenly very aware of the steady drip of blood from the bolt still in his arm.

"Daud, what the shit was all that-- Jordan?!" Rulfio finally moved over to them, wet from the sewers, and he looked at her, equally baffled. He looked at Daud, then Jordan, and his face went severe. "Oh, you didn't… Seriously , Jordan?" He sounded like he was chiding a child which, to be honest, wouldn't be far off the mark. Jordan was even younger than Daud, fresh into her second decade, and sometimes her recklessness preceded her.

Jordan, for her part, at least knew better than to struggle against Daud's grip. Her eyes darted to Rulfio, then back to Daud; she put her hands up, swearing.

"Okay, okay, shit, you caught me. Now let me up you assholes."

"Not until you explain what you were thinking, shooting me in the fucking sewer," Daud growled out, his teeth grinding together in anger.

"There's… there's a hit on you, Daud."

It was Rulfio who responded. He sounded defeated, almost ashamed. Daud swore, nearly dropping his blade as he turned to Rulfio, livid.

"There's a hit on me and you didn't tell me? Since when?"

"It's that prick, Brimsley," Jordan supplied. "Said he was threatened by you, that you killed someone else and he wanted you gone. It's good pay, you know," she twitched, her eyes darting between the other two assassins. "15,000 coin, Daud. I thought it'd be easy enough, but he didn't say you were a heretic too."

"I'm not a heret--" he cut his own words off with a groan, finally pushing Jordan away in anger. His claws left no marks, for which he was grateful. She rubbed at her neck anyway, trying to ease the pain away, checking for blood. "Whatever. Fuck Brimsley. I'll kill him myself and collect my own bounty." With an annoyed grunt, he pulled the bolt from his arm, letting it clatter to the floor, unphased by the blood weeping from the wound.

"Does that even hurt?" Jordan asked, stupefied.

"Like a bloodfly sting," he responded. Jordan blanched.

"Yeah okay, fuck Brimsley, you're a scary man, Daud. 15,000 isn't even close enough to be worth it. 20,000 maybe. But Outsider's ass, you really ate two bolts like it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, at least you didn't try to kill me," he said, and his mind remembered that grey wolf's-- Jerome, his name was Jerome, he reminded himself, sickened--split neck, stitching itself back together. "There's a good chance it wouldn't have worked."

"I wager not," she said, her wide, nervous eyes trailing the scars on his face. "So what, you a fuckin' witch now? Give your soul to the Void so you can't ever die?"

"He's a whale-wolf now, Jordan." Rulfio said gruffly. Daud spared him a glance; Rulfio was watching him carefully, but there was no skepticism in his gaze. Daud savored the small amount of vindication that brought him, before turning towards Jordan's laughter.

"Yeah, right. Those are just fiction, Rulf. I know you love your conspiracy theories, but seriously? A whale-wolf? I'm supposed to just believe that?"

Rulfio flushed, the grip on his blade tightening with the creak of leather. "Did you not see what Daud just did? He disappeared and then reappeared like it was nothing. He's even Marked--or tattoo'd, depending on how you see it."

"Don't need to be a giant beast to use magic, Rulfio."

"Oh? You think those witches you see at night aren't also beasts too? You think Granny Rags isn't more than just an old crone?"

"You ever see Granny look like a giant monster? No? I didn't think so! But she still brews those concoctions and talks to rats and leaves carved bones lying about!"

"Just because you ain't seen it doesn't mean it's not true," Rulfio defended.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Daud finally snarled, his whole body bristling. Jordan and Rulfio both stilled, acquiesced, though Jordan's eyes still darted skeptically between them. "Rulfio isn't wrong, Jordan… I got attacked. In these very sewers, even. It's not something I really enjoy, but--

"Show me, then," Jordan bit out, stubbornness taking over as she steadied her crossbow at Daud, "or I'll turn you over to the Overseers. I bet they'll give me more coin for a marked heretic than Brimsley will for your head."

Daud sighed, aggravated. "You can't be serious."

"And if I am?" She tilted her head. "What, you suddenly shy or something, Daud?"

He snarled, the sound rumbling out from deep in his chest. Jordan faltered and Rulfio stepped back; around them, the air grew heavy. He stuck out his left hand; still gloveless, he clenched it and it burned, the smoke and ash giving away to fur and muscle. Jordan's eyes went wide and she lowered the crossbow as Daud's scars glowed hot, the smoke revealing fur and ears. His teeth clashed together as they lengthened in his jaws and became something other than human. Rulfio cursed, Jordan held a silent scream. His bones cracked unpleasantly but he willed the rest of his body to stay put, despite the heaving of his chest and creeping fur down his back. He felt his wounds steam away, the flesh knitting back together with his partial transformation.

Jordan gaped like a fish. Clearly, neither of them had expected -- this . Daud could hardly blame them. He sneered, his lip curling up, hating the looks on their faces. He let go of his magic; immediately, the fur dissipated, melting away like fog over water.

Nobody said anything. Daud could feel the anger rising in his chest and his left hand itched.

"Any other stupid questions?" He rasped out, his voice ruined after the transformation. Jordan just shook her head, the crossbow falling from her hands.

She ran.

Daud caught her before she took more than two steps. Rulfio's hand flew to his blade, anticipating a fight.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm not sticking around so you can kill me like that!"

"Daud frowned. "I'm not going to kill you." His mouth twisted up into a nasty smile. "Unless you're off to snitch, that is. Then I might reconsider."

"Like anyone would believe me anyway!" She shrieked, her voice cracking up an octave. Then, she relaxed, though the sweat on her brow lingered. "What are you going to do with me then?"

Daud blinked, then looked at Rulfio, who shrugged.

"I think you'll just have to come along for the ride, now," he sneered, putting his blade back on his hip. "You followed us down here, after all. Aren't you curious as to why we're here under a dirty old dog fighting pub?"

Jordan looked skeptical, but Daud knew her curiosity would win out in the end. Her fingers twitched, and she licked her lips.

"It got to do with that hit you took for Brimsley?"

"The very one that fucked me up and almost killed me? Yes."

"Fine. Just don't kill me and leave me a mummy for someone to find in 200 years, alright? I got a lotta living still to do."

"We aren't going to kill you, girl," Rulfio sighed out, exasperated. That seemed to convince her; she wiggled out of Daud's limp grip and wiped herself off.

"Alright then. Where to, wolfman?"

Daud sighed and rolled his eyes; he was already regretting the decision to bring anyone along. But the Outsider had told him to keep his friends close, and maybe this was why.

"Give me a moment," he muttered, then waved his left hand again, burning through more magic. The Void laid bare the secrets of the world and in his ears, a faint ringing began. He frowned; the sound was like a tuning fork, resonating in his chest and limbs. It tugged him down, deeper under the tunnels, to where the dog fighting amphitheatre was. As his vision returned to normal, he started moving, motioning to the others.

"It's this way. Come on."

#dishonored #daud #the outsider #whalers #werewolf au #wolfssegner #blood wolf #long post #rulfio #jordan #fic #my fic #fanfic #my fanfic #not much rambling in the tags on this one #just struggled with this one a bit #a lot of dialog to juggle #both myself and daud are exhausted by jordan

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page? 

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to. 

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I. 

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing. 

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid. 

So very afraid. 

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down. 

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending. 

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today. 

So it is Written. 

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know. 

I'm sorry. 

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen. 

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers. 

I'm sorry. 

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands. 

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms. 

Or die trying. 

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten. 

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair. 

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful. 

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other. 

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet. 

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter. 

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you. 

Death is not merciful. 

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable. 

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water. 

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING. 

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering. 

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain. 

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water. 

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings. 

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least. 

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't. 

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name? 

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin. 

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit. 

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you. 

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together." 

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling. 

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors. 

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer. 

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me. 

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption. 

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive. 

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly. 

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier. 

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth. 

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for. 

It's beautiful and terrible all at once. 

Like me. 

Like you too, I suppose. 

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces. 

You're becoming a real thorn in my side. 

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you. 

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick. 

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose. 

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even. 

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden. 

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me. 

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black. 

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name. 

It's said that Demons possess. 

But Angels abandon. 

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for? 

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple. 

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence. 

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse. 

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it. 

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you. 

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate. 

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful. 

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands. 

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced. 

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving. 

Something oozes between my fingers. 

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be? 

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for? 

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp. 

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity? 

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close. 

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now. 

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke. 

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please. 

I'm scared. 

I'm so scared. 

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go. 

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel. 

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper. 

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again. 

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds. 

The Horsemen are sealed away again. 

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done. 

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently. 

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep. 

#ic #action post #the end is nigh #blood #death #religious imagery // #blasphemy // #cannibalism // #police brutality // #ask to tag #body horror #dismemberment // #impalement #submission

[reignbow]

Nighthowlers

I’m in the process of starting an account on Ao3, but I thought I’d post this story here until then.

Fandom: Zootopia

---------------       “Carrots? Carrots! Wake up!” Nick shouted as he held the rabbit officer in his paws. “Carrots! It’s okay! I’m here!”

      “Officers come quick! A savage fox had been spotted at the natural history museum!” The sheep above squealed into the walkie talkie with perfect drama. “Officer Judy is down! Please hurry!”

      No! No! Nick’s mind screamed. This hadn’t been the plan, they had it all thought through! Why hadn’t it gone to plan?

      “N-Ni?” The bunny wheezed as the carrot pen fell from her hand, hitting the faux grass that had been washed red seconds ago.

      The lights above the exhibit glared down on Nick, burning into his flesh as his heart thudded against his ribs, filling his ears with the untamed rush of adrenaline filled blood. No! This can’t be happening! His mind screamed.

      The blueberry stain on his fur dripped down as the scarlet fluid stayed wet on his lips. What had he done? What had they made him do?

      The tapping of feet was heard as the silver light burned into him, perfectly highlighting the orchestrated scene. The cotton of the plush deer between his teeth soaked with the dark red of the body in his hands.

      The tapping of feet as they surrounded him. An audience as he sat in the soul scorching lights that put him on display in perfect irony; as the blood was quite literally on his paws, but it did not belong there.

      The gasps and shrieks of the spectacle, the shuffling of uneasy feet. He heard it all. The rustle of a hidden taser that shocked nerves and forced muscles to jolt, jaws to close, teeth to rend.

      But was he shocked in another way as the body of the officer lay at his hands, as blood pooled around the two. And he watched with horror as her eyes became empty and dark.

      Sour was the blood that bathed his tongue, but not by comparison to the injustice that defined the spectacle. The one only he knew about.

      And even as he was muzzled and torn away, was he still picturing her determined face. And still while the straight jacket held him fast in his padded room was he dreaming of the past.

      “Chief Bogo, officer Judy Hopps has been killed in action.”

Three years later...

      Anchovies. Nick thought. They put anchovies on my pizza.

      The yellow lights flared down on him in his ironically matchy jumpsuit as he sat in the cafeteria. The tray in front of him had a sad looking flop of cheese and bread next to a couple of other things that Nick had learned not to ask what they were. The only problem to Nick right now was the little silver fish that the lunch servers had thrown on there. I asked them not to do that.

      The air around Nick was filled with the heavy clattering of silverware as the other inmates ate around him, each trying not to taste what they were putting in their mouth. But Nick casually sat there with his paws in his lap, trying not to look at his food. I hate anchovies.

      This may have been a little dramatic, but at the time it felt right. So many of the other prisoners had given up themselves, lost to the cycle. But not Nick. He refused.

      For three years now Nick Wilde had been in this building. Never aloud to see the open streets, never allowed to venture beyond the barbed electric gate. Treated like any other murderer. And for three years now, Bellwether has been president of Zootopia and the surrounding cities. And the little wooly serpent had made sure to enforce the rules.

      It had been so long since Nick had met anybody other than a predator, apart from the stone-faced officers. Not since the courtroom had ruled him guilty. Bellwether had declared that predators and prey be kept apart in the prisons at all costs, not that the prey prisons were filling up or anything. It was almost a relief that Nick had been locked away for all this time. He didn’t have to see what a mess he had made of the world.

      As the bell above rang and the announcer’s voice on the speakers crackled, Nick halfheartedly grabbed his tray and filed along with the rest of the inmates. As they walked past the trash cans, he dumped his untouched food down into the third smallest one with the rest of the medium predator’s filth before following the line out. He had already eaten twice today, and if he didn’t want his dinner, then he didn’t need to eat it! Nobody was going to make him, at least Bellwether hadn’t done that yet.

      The line led back to the containment room. A large open room with an all around balcony looking down from the upper level cells. The cells varied in sizes, each ready to accommodate their own size of predator. From a tiny otter, to a towering lion. All were held here.

      Nick knew the motions clearly, as they had been drummed into his head over the course of the time he spent here. For thirty minutes the prisoners were allowed to roam the common area between all of the containment rooms. A group of bears and a group of lions, which had been rival gangs in the past, would get into an argument, and maybe even a fight. The wolves would sit together and talk trash about prey animals. And everybody else would sit in their own little space and dream of their past lives or create small talk with the other prisoners.

      But Nick decided to be different. He decided that everyday we would do something different, and today, he decided to do one he had been dreading for a long time. He had talked to the wolves before and engaged in their heated conversations, but he had been able to turn their slanderous tongues away from prey in general and over to Bellwether, which was something they could all agree on.

      But today he was doing something dangerous, because he was going to join one of the rival gangs in their arguments, which could very likely get him killed due to his inadequate size. 

      Breathing deep to calm his slight nervousness, he watched as the two gangs gathered back by the larger cells. “Try everything,” he whispered to himself, before laughing quietly. It was a painful laugh.

      As he began to walk over, he thought about which group he was going to support. It didn’t matter, since the arguments were often stupid anyway, and this wasn’t going to be a permanent alliance or anything. He eventually chose to go with the bears.

      As he crept quietly over behind the gathering bears, he heard one of the lions start. “Just because you can shoulder most animals out of the way doesn’t mean you get to walk on our side of the halls,” he said coldly.

      A large grizzly bear then stepped forward to challenge the lion. “We will walk wherever we want Darion.” She growled, and Nick sighed. This had to be the pettiest gang battle known to mammalkind. But if you lived your life for conflict, you had to find it somewhere.

      Another bear stepped forward, but her voice was loud and untamed. “If you have such a problem, maybe you cats should find a new side of the hall!” She roared, and Nick could already tell that this was going to be a fight. Why had he even gotten himself into this?

      The lion was about to say something when Nick spoke up. “Yes, get your own side!” He said, feeling suddenly awkward as the large heads of the bears turned away from their maned rivals to stare down at the small orange fox amongst them. Nick gulped slightly.

      “What do we have here?” The female grizzly bear, that Nick now understood as the leader of the gang, stood as she slowly came closer. She craned her neck further to look down at him. Nick understood this tactic, it was to make him feel even smaller than he already was. But that didn’t work on him.

      “Willy Bushtail at your service,” he said with a bow. It was his fake name he used, he had used it in countless hustles before. And he used it now because the cops had given him the mercy of not telling the other inmates that he was the convicted murderer of Judy Hopps.

      A couple of the bears laughed, and why shouldn’t they? He was a little orange fox wearing orange and trying to blend in with the ranks of bears. Nick knew this would happen, and brushed it off.

      “Seriously? You got a new member without letting us know?” Darion, the leader of the other gang, said with mock pain in his voice, before starting to laugh. “Aww, and he’s a little bitty fox too! How adorable.”

      Nick rolled his eyes, but one of the other bears, a polar bear, spun around and smacked Darion. “Put a sock in it, kitty cat!” He growled as Darion reeled slightly from the blow. And then the lion struck one himself, raking his claws through the polar bear’s orange jumpsuit. 

      And that’s when the fight that Nick was expecting broke out. Nick slowly backed away as the larger predators beat and clawed at each other. Doing something different was his goal, but it would take him a little longer to actually rush into one of their fights. Maybe he could do that next time.

      Then at the other end of the room where the door was, cops started coming in. They were used to dealing with the fights. And pretty soon all of the members of the fight were detained.

      Nick was silently creeping back to his cell as Darion turned his head to avoid the muzzle that the hippo cop had in her hands.

      “Darion, if you do not cooperate, I will have to tase you,” she said matter-of-factly.

      “Wait!” He shouted. “Willy Bushtail was with the bears! The fox was part of it too!”

      Nick flinched when he heard this. He hadn’t considered that he might wind up in a higher security cell for a couple of days too.

      The hippo suddenly stopped trying to put the muzzle on him and held it in her left hand. “Nick Wilde?” She asked.

      Suddenly a hush fell upon the room, and Nick cringed. He hadn’t heard anybody use his real name for a long time, and knew that his name carried bad connotations. And now people that he had previously fooled with his fake name knew who he really was.

      “Nick Wilde?” Shouted a deep male voice, and he turned to see a large wolverine stand up from next to a badger. He was one of the small talkers, Nick had noticed.

      The wolverine looked down on him with an unreadable expression. “The killer of Judy Hopps.” He laughed a little bit, before turning to face around the room. “Look guys! It’s the killer of the only cop who cared about us!” The wolverine laughed some more, before his face turned hard. “You know, I really do hate foxes.”

      Nick’s heart pounded as the massive predator loomed toward him. He whipped around and bolted as he heard the charging of the angry wolverine.

      “Tase him!” Somebody shouted, and the sound of taser guns firing popped through the air, but did nothing to cease the pounding of paws behind Nick.

      Nick scrambled up the metal stairs, heat jolting as he heard a heavier crashing join seconds after. The metal turned to tile as he leapt over the top of the stairs and dashed desperately.

      The entrance to his cell was just up ahead! Nick hoped he could hold the door shut for long enough for the cops to detain his pursuer. But what if I can’t...

      He could hear the cops running up the stairs… and the wolverine’s heavy footsteps right behind him. I’m not gonna make it. He knew he needed another option, quick. And with years of thinking on his feet, he saw one.

     Desperate, he shot to the side, leaping over the rails and off of the balcony. This is going to hurt. He spread out his limbs to land as the ground raced up at him. Hit the table. Hit the table.

      Suddenly, his body jolted as his vision whirled up, and he let out a yelp. He heard fabric tear as long claws tore through his jumpsuit and suspended him above the gawking inmates below.

      He had been caught. He had never been caught before. Not since...

      “Time to join your victim, fox!” The wolverine snarled, and Nick looked behind to see him lifting his massive claws to swing.

      “Fire!” The voice of the hippo rang out from hind as the razors sped towards Nick’s throat. The large predator jolted as electricity pulsed through his muscles. His long claws swung up suddenly as pain exploded on the right side of Nick’s head.

      The predator dropped him and fell back, stunned, and Nick fell fully this time, body slamming into a table below.

      The fall hurt, but not nearly as much as the paralyzing agony Nick felt as he clutched his face. Over his closed right eye he felt the oozing of water and warm blood. And then he remembered. His mind dug up something he had long since buried deep into the back of his head.

      The day he had bitten Judy, it wasn’t for real. It was only to trick the sheep into thinking that he had really gone savage. But the plan had gone wrong, and Bellwether tased him. His jaw had moved uncontrollably, and he had bitten her for real. He remembered the shock as his fangs pierced her throat, her neck crushing under the power of his teeth. He remembered the straight jacket and the muzzles, and how he was eventually found to not be affected with the nighthowler venom. But that didn’t help him now. Because if he wasn’t insane, he was a murderer. And then it all went black.

                  “No!” Nick shouted as he strained against his chains. “It’s not true! Don’t trust her!”

      The ear splitting sound of the gavel rang out three times, each one killing the words in Nick’s throat. “Silence! Silence!” the kangaroo judge ordered. “You are lucky you even get a trial Nick Wilde. And while you are here you will speak in your turn and only in your turn!”

      Nick’s pelt burned with anger. He and Judy had worked so hard to find the missing mammals, but all of it had been for nothing. Sure, the animals had been found, but Judy had been killed before they could catch the true culprit. No, Judy had been murdered. Murdered by the very accuser that sat on the other side of the judge as an eyewitness.

      “Thank you, Your Honor” Bellwether said politely, before twisting her face in a strange fabricated emotion that only Nick could see through. That sheep was a sociopath. “When I first heard Judy scream, me and the upstanding citizens around me ran that way as fast as we could to make sure she was okay!”

      Psssh, upstanding citizens, Nick scorned inside of his mind. Indeed the other sheep, along with Bellwether, had been the culprits. But only two people had witnessed the actual experiments, and one of them was dead.

      “But when we arrived, it was too late!” The sheep said as crocodile tears pooled in the bottom of her eyes. “And Judy was dead!”

      The kangaroo judge once more tapped her gavel, before turning to Nick. “What do you say in your defense, fox!”

      Nick was ready to let the fire out, and burn this entire courtroom to the ground. “It is true that it was my teeth that dealt the fatal blow to Judy, but it wasn’t by my will!” He shouted.

      There were several murmurs throughout the jury, but the judge looked bored. “Well if it was not your will, who made you do it,” she said dryly.

      Nick swallowed hard as he thought of how to explain the situation. Through all his time in law bending activities, he had never been in a courtroom before. There was so much at stake here, the entire future of Zootopia rested on him, but he didn’t know where to start. At last when he had a truth to tell, his tongue failed to speak a single word.

      With the silence, the judge tapped her gavel once more. “Bellwether, the report says that there were electric burns discovered on Nick Wilde, do you have any idea where those came from?”

      At last Nick knew what to say, but the turn was not his. And one more word spoken at the wrong time could end the trial here and now. He had to trust that Bellwether would mess up, and make his story more credible by doing so.

      But if she was caught off guard, she didn’t show it, until she spoke. “I had to tase him,” her voice warbled strangely.

      Hope came up inside of Nick. Maybe others would hear that slight imperfection in her voice, and they would pick and chip at it until the truth came rolling out. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who saw through the psychotic creature’s lies. How foolish he was to think that though.

      Tears suddenly began to spill from Bellwether’s eyes. “Because I thought… I thought that maybe I could still save-” the sheep suddenly dropped to the ground, weeping.

      Nick flinched at this display, before he realized immediately what she was doing. Nonono… his mind pleaded. By perfectly mimicking the emotions that he had been forced to bury within himself, she manipulated the minds of everybody in the room. Molding their brains like clay.

      After sighing, the judge spoke. “I am sorry for your loss, Bellwether.”

      Nick’s heart nearly stopped. The pity in everybody’s eyes when they looked at Bellwether; instantly shifting into hatred when their gaze turned to him. His fate was sealed, and he had failed.

      Suddenly bringing down her gavel three times, the judge stood up. “Order. Jury, all in belief that the accused is guilty, raise your paw.”

      Nick turned away, refusing to gaze upon as every corrupted hand in the room rose against him.

      The judge then continued in the same tone. “All in belief that the accused is non-guilty, raise your paw.”

      Nick once more decided to not look, but when he heard the shocked gasps of the crowd, he forced himself to turn. And right there in the very center of all of the animals, was a little fennec fox. It was his partner, the very one he was working with the time he met Judy. And he was right there in the center of all of the still mammals, raising his tiny little paw in spite of all of the disgusted looks people were throwing at him.

      Even though the entire world seemed to want to string Nick up, he stared gratefully at that one person who still believed him, that saw past his outside and knew the real him. And Nick mouthed a silent ‘thank you.’

      But it would not be enough. The judge nodded before standing up. “The jury has spoken,” she said before turning to Nick. “I hereby sentence you to,” her eyes threatened to bore holes into Nick’s flesh. “Life in prison! For the life that you have stolen from us!”

      Nick froze, as he realized what that meant exactly. His life would be over. No more traveling, no more hiding his life in the shadows and minding his own business, no more scheming another hustle. His future was gone, and every other predator’s future was broken.

      He fought to hold in the tears that, after all this time of binding his emotions, threatened to escape.

      As the police came up behind him to take him away, Bellwether cried out. “Wait! May I say something?” She pleaded.

      After a second, the kangaroo judge nodded. “Of course Mayor Bellwether. You may get anything off of your chest that you must.”

      The sheep nodded before turning to Nick. “You know Nick, when I first saw you down there, tearing Judy to pieces, I wanted to believe that you were just affected by the same madness of so many other mammals. I wanted to believe that the Nick Wilde that was Judy’s best friend was still buried deep down in there somewhere. But I was heartbroken to find out that you murdered her in cold blood,” the sheep raised her hand as she cleared a sob out of her throat. “But it is even worse to know that you are truly unsavable. Nick, this hurts me more than it hurts you.” Then, after a sniffle, the sheep turned to face the judge. “I am done, Your Honor.”

      Nick was disgusted at how sick the sheep was. The way she could lie without guilt, even about something as fragile as a mammal’s life, made him want to vomit. But still, she wasn’t the only one to blame. He had failed to speak up before she sank her neurotoxic lies into the heads of the people around. He had failed to bring light onto what had really happened. He had failed Judy. As Bellwether walked down the hall to the exit and the officers cuffed and muzzled Nick and dragged him away, he knew one thing. It was her word against his, and his word had failed.

      Beep.

      The single small noise pierced into the darkness of Nick’s mind, as he faded back to consciousness.

      Beep.

      He remembered before, he had been scared of something. Not just afraid, but in mortal terror.

      Beep.

      He knew that his face hurt, and that what had happened before was likely the cause.

      Beep.

      But it didn’t matter. Because he was safe now. Nothing was chasing him. The pain was bearable. Everything was okay.

      Beep.

      He was safe now.

      Beep.

      He was safe now.

      Beep.

      He wasn’t safe now…

      Nick’s eyes opened as he shot upright in the bed, throwing off thin covers. The bright lights stung his eye a little as he looked around the room.

      A machine beeped steadily beside him, eerily consistent with it’s timing. A dark blue curtain hung beside him. The walls were a bland white. Numerous unfamiliar instruments lay around him.

      He suddenly realized that he was in a hospital room. And then it all came rushing back to him.

      First, he tested all of his limbs. Nothing broken. Nothing on his body seemed to even be bandaged. But as he looked around, he realized that the room was weird. It was like he couldn’t quite measure the distances.

      His heart jumped . Maybe he had a concussion! His head didn’t really hurt, but maybe that was even worse.

      He blinked a few times, before looking around to see if there was anything in the room that could give him a hint on his current situation. But despite his keenness for putting things together, his lack of knowledge in the medical field meant he had no idea what the objects around him meant for him personally, except for that he needed to brush up on medical science. If he ever got the chance.

      Then another thought occurred to him. In the five years that he had been confined to the prison building, this may have been the first time that he had ever been outside of it.

      He looked to his left, but was just met with the same dark blue curtain. Then he looked to his right, but oddly found that he hadn’t turned his head far enough the first time.

      Slightly off-put, he strained his neck to look at the wall to his right, turning his body to get a better look.

      But he was met only with drawers, cabinets, a sink, and a door. No windows. He assumed that if this place had any windows, that mister-lucky-side-of-the-curtain had gotten them.

    Nick’s thoughts were broken into by the sound of a door creaking. He whirled back in forth in the bed a bit to see where it was coming from, before he realized that it was coming from the other side of the curtain.

      Small, clopping steps echoed through the sectioned room as somebody entered the room. Nick hoped that whoever it was could explain what was going on.

      A figure, tall in stature, pressed into the curtain slightly, before swiping it out of the way. Through the second the curtain was pulled back, Nick strained to see if there were any windows on the other side of the room, but the sliver of unblocked space wasn’t enough to tell him.

      Nick’s gaze fell upon the zebra who entered. She was tall, just like he thought, and wore a seafoam-colored uniform that bore her name; Adamma Equus.

      She wore a melancholy expression as she stepped over beside him with gloves over her hands. “Sit still,” she said, “I am just going to change out your bandages.”

      Nick was confused. “Bandages?” He said, questioning.

      “Yes, bandages. The ones on your face? Or were you not aware of the giant patch over your eye.”

      Nick realized that he did feel something tight on his head, and his paws immediately shot up to his face. He inhaled sharply as he felt the fabric and other materials wrapped around the right side.

      Paws shaking, he looked at Adamma, who was pulling supplies from the cabinets. “Wh-What happened?” He asked.

      She left the question hanging for a moment as she grabbed some bandages into a bundle, before she finally responded. “Your eye was torn out. You don’t remember?” She said in the most matter-of-fact tone possible.

      Panic struck Nick like cold water, as he grasped at the bandages around his head. “Tell me you’re joking,” he said, searching the area around for something slightly reflective.

      Adamma’s braided black-and-white mane fell around her neck as she approached him. “Why don’t you look for yourself?”

      She handed him a small spoon from within the drawers. Nick froze when he saw himself.

      The entire right-side of his face had been obscured in layers of gauze and bandages. He knew that Adamma was telling the truth.

      Suddenly, he remembered. The wolverine, the running, and the claws that had sliced across his face.

      He dropped the spoon and felt a bit queasy.

      Adamma picked it up off of the covers.

      “Will you be able to fix it…” Nick said quietly, holding back his panic. In all his years of close-calls and stressful situations, he had almost always been able to squirm out of harm’s way. He had never lost a body part before. He didn’t even know if that had ever been a thought that crossed his mind! He had never really thought, could I lose a body part?

      Adamma snorted, something Nick would have never expected as a response to his question, let alone from a professional.

      “Maybe in a higher-class hospital we could do something. Likely not fix it entirely. But here? The best thing we can do is hope your face doesn’t look horribly maimed in the future!”

      Nick froze. “Higher… class…” he spoke low and dark. Don’t tell me that means what I think it means.

      “What did you expect?” Adamma said. “You’re a convicted murderer, for one. And for two, your a predator. Bellwether won’t risk you going bonkers and tearing up the patients in the prey hospitals.”

      Nick had a bitter taste in his mouth from what she just said. He stared hard at his paws in his lap.

      “I have seen what you creatures can do,” Adamma said, quietly and laced with spite.

      Nick looked at her and saw something behind her expression. This wasn’t just a hateful person. There was something in those eyes that told him she had lost something, something to a predator.

      “Is she still-“ Nick held his tongue, knowing if he finished, he could get himself into trouble. “Are… predators still going savage..?”

      Adamma was selecting tools for the bandage change when he asked, and she didn’t look up from her task. “Sometimes. But the new safety measures that President Bellwether has ensured have been causing the rate to decline. Since taming collars have been released, less predators have been going savage.”

      “What is a taming collar?” Nick asked.

      “I’m surprised that they haven’t already been issued in the prisons,” Adamma replied. “It’s a device around a predator’s neck that administers a small electric shock when a predator gets too emotional for their own good,” Adamma replied as she began to unwrap a few layers of bandages. “It’s to prevent you from snapping. Now hold still.”

      Nick felt around his neck, but only felt the soft fur of his throat. He hadn’t been collared, yet.

      “I said hold still,” Adamma scolded.

      Suddenly, there was a thump against the wall to his right, something had been thrown against it. Nick’s ears shot up to listen.

      Nick couldn’t see whether or not Adamma reacted, but he felt her hands stop.

      Adamma murmured something under her breath before continuing.

      Then there was another one, except this one was much louder, and shook the entire room.

      Nick’s head automatically turned to see what the cause was, but not far enough, so he turned it more.

      “What the…” Adamma said as she instinctively braced herself against the side of Nick’s hospital bed.

      “Could that be somebody in another room? Or…”

      “No. That wall has nothing but outside on the other side,” Adamma replied, obviously thinking.

      “Oh,” Nick said. Guess this place just doesn’t do windows.

      They both stared at the wall in silence for about thirty seconds. Then, Adamma was satisfied. “I don’t think-“

      Nick never heard the end of that sentence. There was a giant crack, and next thing he knew the world was rolling around him.

      He felt himself hit against something rough, that then enveloped his vision as he whirled into  darkness. He clanged against something hard.    

#reignbow writes #zootopia #fanfiction #character death #judy hopps #nick wilde

[etjwrites]

OC Backstory - Antagonist Edition - Week 3: Choice

The moment they ended up on said path, that leads them against the protagonist (or maybe society as a whole). A decision of some sort, a point of no return. @yourocsbackstory​​

A moment in 2 parts:

It is done.

The queen must never know. For however much she loves me, she would certainly banish me if she learned of it.

But people fall through all the time; she has no reason to suspect this incident was not an accident. Under her tutelage, I've learned how to draw on small amounts of her power, practicing even when we are apart; this discreet borrowing will go unnoticed. And it is worth it, to have Tamlin here. It's been been almost five years—but the way he looked at me when we danced at the king's court on that other world—the memory still makes my heart race.

Everything I've ever dreamed of is within my grasp. Queen Liastra is very close to naming a successor, and though I know Khyth is still in the running, I sense that she does not truly want it. I do. More than anything, I must possess the queendom. The Faeyen. But as the queen has told us many times, power alone is not enough to bring happiness.

She is rarely wrong. My true joy lies within Tamlin. These many years I have watched him through Shalott's mirror, and he has only grown more striking. He is kind, gentle, his brown eyes crinkling with a smile for everyone he meets.

And now he is mine.

At least, he will be when I find the place where he has fallen. Something went wrong. Some . . . error in calculations. He was supposed to fall near the castle, but I have searched and searched and seen no sign of him. Each hour that passes is an hour that wild beasts could find him and rend his delicate body asunder. My Tamlin is not a fighter.

He is not meant to debase himself with the arts of warfare. It galls me to remember all the times his king forced him to fight in gaudy tournaments and flashy jousts. A man should not suffer injury just to win flowers from a lady already wedded to another.

Here my beloved will find peace.

And when I am queen of Hyphantria, I shall do away with the law that kept Tamlin from me these many years.

---

I want to scream. I want to fly at Khyth and tear the flesh from her face. I want to burn Bytheinia to the ground.

All this time she has had Tamlin. She never sent a letter, never thought to inform me of the stranger within her gates. I discovered it by chance. From the idle chatter of some servant girls.

Still, I could have forgiven it. Khyth has all but relinquished her claim to the Faeyen, too consumed with preparing to rule her own queendom. I could have overlooked this slight, attributed it to the ever mounting duties that ere now have inexorably drawn us apart.

But she betrothed him.

Khyth, my companion of girlhood, my own bosom friend. I am cleft in two from this betrayal. And yet, the love I once bore for her—she who swore that there would never be secrets between us—whispered to me that surely I had heard wrong. The rumours could not be true. Crown Princess Khythaira, heir to the throne of Bytheinia, would not commit such a betrayal. Not to me.

So I summoned her to the palace. She came alone to the great solar with its high, stained-glass windows and smooth, marble floors. I begged her to tell me the man she is to wed is not my beloved Tamlin.

She would not reply, but I read the truth of it in her face.

Her beautiful, haughty, wicked face.

It is with all my strength that I hold myself back now. There is no hint of remorse in her eyes. She plays at looking sad to placate me, but I can see through it. I could throw away everything that I am, and she would not return Tamlin to me.

“Zora,” she pleads, a calculatingly soft tone padding her words, “Zora, please. You danced with Tamlin once, when we were all fifteen and blushing at every boy who smiled at us. He didn't even remember my name when I found him perishing from thirst on the outskirts of my queendom.”

“Not even a raven.” The words hiss between my lips. “Do strangers so often pass into our realm that you deigned not to inform me? I had to find out from serving girls, of all people.”

Khyth cringes at that. “Forgive me, love,” she says, stepping closer. I want to shrink away, to push her back—anything to keep her treacherous presence from encroaching upon me. I remain rooted in place, limbs trembling from the effort of holding myself back.

A queen never gives way to her enemies, or to her own selfish fears.

“My coronation is soon, and between that and nursing Tamlin back to health, I neglected to make time for you, my dearest friend.” She steps closer, reaching a hand to my shoulder, gently grasping my left hand in her other.

I permit her, though the touch burns where my flesh is bare.

“I promise to do better by you.” She squeezes my shoulder, doubtless a gesture meant to reassure, but all I can think is that those hands have touched Tamlin so, so many times, and my skin crawls. “Zora, the Faeyen, I don't want it anymore. It is yours. I desire only to reign over Bytheinia with Tamlin at my side. Will you not forgive this misunderstanding between us, and if we can no longer remain friends, then at least let our queendoms continue in friendly alliance?”

I say nothing, not moving even to grit my teeth, and Khyth's hands fall away. Tears gather in her dark eyes. Eyes that have drunk their fill of Tamlin of late. I want to claw them out.

“Give him back.” Anger overwhelms the sobs threatening to erupt. “And our queendoms shall know peace.”

Khyth, as if sensing how very close she is to losing her sight, moves away. She shakes her head in feigned sadness. “Zora, he was never yours.”

“What gives you such great claim to him?” If her hand were still within reach, I might have wrenched off the ring sparkling there.

“I suppose”—her voice cracks a little, from guilt, doubtless—“it was because I found him first. If he had fallen within your kingdom, perhaps things would be different.”

“You can still do right by me, and return him before I am forced to declare our two queendoms at odds.”

“And what gives you such great claim to him?” Khyth retorts, eyes flashing as she throws my own words back at me.

“If it weren't for me, your beloved Tamlin wouldn't even be here,” I snarl.

Khyth's eyes go wide, and from the archway there is the sound of glass shattering on the floor. A figure appears, her horrified face matching Khyth's.

“Zora!” Queen Liastra says, aged hands shaking, her studded circlet sparkling in the light of the setting sun. Her voice is accusing.

“What have you done?” Khyth whispers.

I look from one to the other. The queen opens her mouth to speak, but I know what she will say. She is going to banish me, to strip me of the right to the Faeyen, of the queendom for which I've worked my fingers to bone year in and year out. She will give everything to Khyth.

If she hadn't heard, mayhap I could have overpowered my former friend. Her disappearance would have caused a rift between our two queendoms, but I would have released her—in disgrace, with measures set in place to ensure she would never again betray me—once the queendom, the Faeyen, and Tamlin were mine. I was already threatening war in order to regain him.

But now the queen knows. And while she still possesses the Faeyen I cannot make a single move against her.

The tears start to come then, rebelling against my best efforts. Trembling overtakes me. I silently curse the first queen who decreed that the power of the Faeyen was never to be used to bring people to our world. Many of those who find themselves here have no wish to return. What harm does it do to take one person here and there?

But there is no forgiveness to be found in Queen Liastra's eyes. All the years she spent training and tutoring me, they are falling away as if they never meant anything to her. She will banish me and think nothing of it, millennia old prohibitions more important to her than her almost-daughter.

I refuse to acknowledge the wetness on my cheeks, hands going instead to my skirts to gather them up as I prepare to leave before she can have me thrown out. I shall never again enter this room, not as long as Queen Liastra lives.

I pause just as I pass her.

Khyth is still staring at me in shock. My heart has been broken over and over. I have lost everything. And yet she still looks at me as if I have committed an unforgivable sin when all I did was fall in love. All I wanted was Tamlin, by my side, forever.

“Princess,” I call to her, ignoring the queen's censuring gaze, “One day, you will know what it is to have everything you've ever wanted.” My throat constricts, but I force the words out, the last words I shall ever say to Khyth.

“And on that day, when you are happiest, by my hand you will lose it all.”

00 - Preview || 01 – Intro || 02 - Becoming || 04 - Protagonist || 05 - POV

Tag Crew:

@adie-dee​​ @anilahsarchangel​​​ @catharticallysarcastic​​​

#yourocsbackstory #antagonist edition #am writing #writeblr #zora #afallon #WIP #etjwrites #heads up the formatting for this and the other parts might look odd on the actual post page #though it looks fine on mobile or from the dashboard 🤷🏽‍♀️

[turquoisephoenix]

What’s A Little Galaxy-Wide Destruction Between Friends? - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Five days after saving the galaxy from the Deplanetizer, Elaris is greeted by an old friend, who wishes to talk to her, vent a little, and give her life advice. Unfortunately for her, her old friend also happens to be a freshly transformed robot version of a dangerous criminal madman that everyone believed was dead. Elaris & Dr. Nefarious friendship Characters: Elaris, Dr. Nefarious, Lawrence, Qwark (mentioned) ————————————————

Author's Notes: I also mainly wrote this to write down a headcanon I had for why Dr. Nefarious wanted to blow up Umbris as his main plan in the movie, when a galaxy-wide explosion leading up to "just" city-wide takeovers and roboticization kinda seems like a downgrade on the evil scale. Plus at the end of the day, Nefarious kinda is a goofy idiot in addition to being an evil mastermind.  

Also because Elaris is a gamer and we stan a gaming legend.

----------------

Three weeks had passed since the incident on Umbris and Elaris couldn't be happier.

The weapons technician was grinning from ear to ear as she entered her workplace, practically bouncing on her heels as the events of today's meeting still making her giddy. She set down a bunch of cardboard boxes she was holding down on an empty table and pumped her fists in the air. A scream of joy filled the air.

At last! She was moving out of the broom closet and getting a proper laboratory! They finally listened to her! No more bottles of cleanser and pails of dirty water! No more having to say "excuse me" and awkwardly shove past the janitor to get to her office! No more terrible smells!

At first the process was as slow as it always was - everyone kept pushing back her appeals because they kept saying they had more pressing matters to attend to, where would we find the space, surely this could wait when we just saved the galaxy, Qwark has another book signing today - but then she did something that they didn't expect from a passive nerd like her. Elaris dug in her heels and let herself get a little angry about this issue. She'd raise her voice a little bit, she demanded a little more respect, until finally the group listened.

In other words, she channeled a bit of her inner Dr. Nefarious.

But just a little bit. The part of him that didn't want to murder anybody.

Elaris looked at the corkboard in her office with Dr. Nefarious's photo still pinned to it, where the perfectly happy and organic Nefarious smiled with the blissful unawareness of what would happen to him after that picture was taken. She couldn't help but smile back, even though the person in the photograph tried to blow up the galaxy - with her in it - last month.

She really did have that weird dream meeting with Dr. Nefarious to thank. As the days went by, she started to see that one incident with the robot version of Dr. Nefarious sneaking on her spaceship and coaching her on her job as less of a thing that happened and more like a vision. A spiritual calling if you will.

Sure, it felt real. And for a while, she earnestly believed that it was real. But as the days went by and as her brain thought about it for a little while longer, Elaris began to rationalize to herself that no, it didn't happen and her patrol shift near Umbris was so boring that she fell asleep and had a strange nightmare of a screaming zombie robot telling her to quit her job.

Which is why she wasn't worried about the notification from a "DrN42" popping up on her account after she started an online session of Resistance: Fall of Blarg after her shift.

Apparently they were already friends and their last online activity was years ago, but it was an older game so she thought nothing of it. She accepted and settled into her chair, also thinking nothing of it when the voice chat booted on. She cracked open a can of Nanotech Gamer Fuel Cola ("the drink of true 133ts!" as it said on the side) and adjusted her headset.

"What's up, DrN42." she said into the microphone, in the tone of voice she used for livestreams.

"Testing...testing..."

Elaris made a tiny yell and jumped, her can of Cola flying out of her hand and crashing onto the floor.

Yes, there was no denying it. The voice on the other end of voice chat was Dr. Nefarious. The Dr. Nefarious that was supposed to be dead. The Dr. Nefarious that was supposed to be a figment of her imagination.

Immediately she remembered why the username was still on her friend's list - before he quit the Galactic Rangers, Elaris would try to get him to blow off a little steam by playing a couple online matches, usually after he got into another shouting match with Captain Qwark. She remembered days where both of them were standing side by side in the crowded broom closet, their shoulders touching as they were both in The Zone...

She shook that memory away before she dwelled too hard on it, her face flushing. She hated how much she missed the company of a criminal mad scientist.

That also meant she didn't just imagine that one meeting back on her spaceship. The weird robot in her dream that was yelling to a Lawrence over a cellphone and breathing like he still had a pair of lungs was real and now he was playing an online game with his old work username. Her mind reeled at the revelation.

"I heard a yelp so speakers seem to be working..." he said calmly, snapping her back into reality.

"How...." she stopped herself. "Okay, seriously, what are you even doing?" Her brain was still trying to play catch-up with what was going on. She fought to calm herself down - it's not like he could physically threaten her over an online game or anything after all - as a harsh metallic voice filtered through her speakers.

"I ran into a bit of inventor's block. Managed to get the wi-fi working from the crash site and worked my way there." he explained evenly. She couldn't see, but back on Umbris, he was currently sitting in a chair made out of stolen spaceship parts and twiddling a small wrench in-between two claws as he gently tweaked the sensitivity of his game controller, which was a Frankensteinian chimera of scrap metal and loose wires sitting in his lap.

Behind him, Lawrence was silently dusting. Lawrence didn't want to play, which was fine for Nefarious, because he didn't want to construct a second controller.

"You..." Elaris was still having a hard time making sentences work.

"If you must know, if you take about five repair droids and rip the wiring and chips out of their miserable carcasses, you can cobble together a working game controller out of them." his voice remained calm and at a normal speaking volume, but running underneath it was a seething undercurrent of hatred. "All you really need is some soldering materials and a small screwdriver."

"This is insane." she said, stating the obvious.

"I get that a lot, yes." he continued. Lawrence made a quiet amused noise under his breath but Nefarious wasn't paying attention. "It takes an additional two repair droids for the headset-"

"What if I tell the Galactic Rangers that you're still alive?" she blurted out suddenly, the words falling out of her mouth. She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth in an act of instant regret, but Nefarious didn't seem phased.

"Then you'd have to explain to them how you'd know this information, Elaris." he answered. Even though she could only hear his voice, she could just feel the smug smile crossing his metallic face. "And wouldn't that be an awkward conversation to your fellow galactic heroes?"

Crud, Elaris thought to herself. No wonder he was so calm.

"I'm also using a frequency jammer so don't try tracing my connection back to me. One of the first things I learned during my untimely stay in a prison cell was how to leech wi-fi and go completely undetected..!" he said with a sinister voice, his words taking on such an evil tone that didn't betray the fact that the main reason he learned how to leech wi-fi was because he didn't want to miss any seasonal events in League of Legendaries and wanted to keep his place in the top PVP DPS lists.

"Are you going to use this as blackmail?" she said in a tinier voice than she meant to.

"N-No?" he said incredulously, taken aback. The way he said it instantly defused most of the tension hanging in the air. He sounded almost hurt, of all things. "Calm down, Elaris. I just want to play Resistance and I just happened to see you online. What kind of person do you take me for?"

'Someone who's backstabbed everyone he's ever worked for?' flashed through her mind and while she didn't say it out loud, Nefarious could practically read her mind from the long silence that followed, which caused him to clear his cybernetic throat in embarrassment. There he goes doing the non-robot things again. At least he was consistent.

"I just want to play one online match. You know...for old time's sake. After that, I'll disappear. What do you say?"

She wasn't sure what made her say yes. Was it something in the tone of his voice? Was it curiosity? Or did she believe this was another weird dream, similar to the previous weird dream back when she was patrolling Umbris?

'Stupidity, probably' she thought to herself as DrN42's character loaded into the waiting room. She did the wave emote. In response, DrN42 shuddered a bit and then started walking into a wall. She heard grumbles of annoyance and the angry hammering of buttons as DrN42's attempt at emoting proved disastrous. He managed to get the dance emote working before he sank into the decorative pool that was in the training area map and drowned.

"Are you having any problems there, buddy?" she asked as he respawned and then proceeded to get his character wedged between two bushes. The hammering of buttons continued echoing into her ears.

"Ever had all of your fingers surgically removed and replaced with sharp, clumsy metal claws meant for rending organic flesh and not much beyond that?"

"No?"

"Well....that makes one of us...." he said glumly as his character lurched forward right into another wall. He controlled like someone who never played a video game in his life. He found the fire button and his character started shooting wildly into the air.

"Did you even practice beforehand?" she said in amusement, watching him figure out the controls.

"N-no...." he admitted sheepishly. His character fell into the pool again. "I'll say I have bad lag!"

"Well, too late for any regrets because our match is starting." She warned him, her eyes locked on the countdown clicking down on the HUD. A smile of amusement crossed her lips. This was going to be a virtual trainwreck and she was ready for it.

"Wh-what-"

Before Dr. Nefarious could finish his weak protest, they were both immediately loaded into bleak post apocalyptic ruins. Shades of brown and toppled skyscrapers surrounded them from all directions. Elaris adjusted her headset like a grizzled war veteran as the heavy metal soundtrack of Fall of Blarg flooded the broom closet.

To say that Nefarious "sucked" at this game was an understatement, and possibly an insult to creatures that sucked things for nutrients. Nefarious was so bad at this game that Elaris wondered if there was a correlation between his sudden drop in gaming skill and his unwanted transformation, and made sure to make a mental note to never turn into a robot. He played worse than someone who intentionally played bad for cheap clicks on YouTube, and that was saying something. Elaris was positive was one of his deaths was because he accidentally shot himself in the face with his own weapon, and she didn't even think that was possible in Fall of Blarg.

"Wow buddy, you're kinda bad at this game!" Elaris said as she killed the soldier that was camping on Dr. Nefarious's body and keeping him from respawning.

"SHUT UP, I'M REALLY RUSTY!" was his response.

Elaris couldn't help herself. She was on the battlefield of Resistance: Fall of Blarg - a game where she livestreamed with the Galaxy's greatest champions, a game where she ruled with an iron fist as Queen. He was in her domain now and not even his new robot form could protect him from her fury.

"Oh no, are you already getting rust?" she mocked playfully.

"NOT HELPING!"

"I could suggest some derusting agents, I know you're new to the whole robot thi-"

"WHAT WAS THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MY HEADSET'S ACTING UP!"

Elaris broke out into a fit of laughter, which caused Nefarious to nervously chuckle on his end. She couldn't help it - as absurd as this situation was, she was having a lot of fun. Not even with the wild difference in skill level between her and her partner did her foes stand a chance. She was in Gamer Mode and nothing can stop her now.

One online match became three. Then five. Then nine. Every match, Elaris carried them to victory. While she did enjoy playing babysitter to a wildly flailing partner that drew enemy fire, Dr. Nefarious was a fast learner and actually figured out how to not suck and die on the battlefield. By the fifth match, some of his old Galactic Ranger skill began to come back and soon he was able to pick off one or two kills himself. Still not as good as Elaris, the Iron Queen of Resistance, but at least he wasn't so much of a dead weight anymore.

And honestly, she was having the best gaming session in months. She missed having a gaming partner. In this brief happy moment of leeching company wi-fi to keep her own Internet bill down, Elaris forgot she was playing video games with a scary robot monster that once pointed a giant space station sized weapon at Umbris and tried to blow up the entire galaxy.

'Umbris...'

The exhilarating rush of video games soon gave way to curiosity. Elaris checked the clock. She had been gaming with a bloodthirsty madman for a solid hour now. Normally she was out of Galactic Ranger Headquarters much earlier than this, even during days where she hung back to fix a few bugs on overtime. Now, she wanted to use the voice chat to its full advantage rather than blast enemy soldiers.

"Hey Nef." she said, setting their group to private and cancelling their next match.

"Hrm?"

Elaris looked around. She checked behind her to make sure there was no one walking down the hallway of HQ and then, after a brief hesitation, she lowered her voice and asked the question that was burning on the back of her head, even though she was dreading the actual answer.

"Why did you want to blow up Umbris and kill everyone?"

There was a quick cackle of disbelief - a sudden, pointed "HAH!" - over the other end.

"Where did everyone in the Solana Galaxy get this idea? How is blowing up Umbris going to kill everyone? Umbris is an uninhibited wasteland where Qwark has his stupid training base for squishy meatheads! I thought my motive would be crystal clear in me targeting that worthless mudball of a planet! No one would miss it!"

"W-what..." Elaris uttered in disbelief as her team partner suddenly broke into a rant befitting of a true gamer.

"Don't think I don't read the news! I've been seeing the propaganda from both Qwark's autobiography and that holovid that I was planning to "wipe out everything". Why would I wipe out everything? There's no one to gloat to when you wipe out everything! What did everyone think I was going to do - go to the Bogon Galaxy and march up to the doors of Megacorp like "guess who has six fingers and blew up billions of people"?"

He drew in a breath to calm himself; yelling at Elaris didn't feel nearly as good as yelling at Qwark or at some weird Lombax kid. "I swear you try to atomize one city in a fit of rage and everyone thinks you're a genocidal maniac." he added at last.

She thought back about the Deplanetizer and the holovid made in honor of the heroics of Ratchet and Captain Qwark. They added a couple scenes for Dr. Nefarious about how he was going to reduce the Solana Galaxy into space dust. The planets were perfectly aligning and Umbris has an unstable core - it just made sense that he would've planned this all out.

"Whoa whoa whoa, you mean to tell me that you set up the Deplanetizer to blow up a planet with an unstable core - a move that would've set off a chain reaction and wiped out everything in the galaxy including yourself - entirely by accident?"

"Yes!" he said instantly. There was then an awkward pause as his brain caught up to him. "...wait that would've actually destroyed the galaxy...?"

"Yes! Yes that would've destroyed all the other planets!" she barked back, a little louder than her normal speaking tone.

He went silent for a long period of time, a disconcerting period of time that made Elaris wonder if he lost connection.

Finally he spoke, and his voice was suddenly really quiet.

"I didn't know that..." he admitted.

"WHAAAAAT?!" she screamed.

She couldn't help herself. Anger was flooding her senses and clouding her thoughts. Maybe it was the heat of the online battlefield but she did not like the idea that Nefarious almost killed her - not because he wanted to! She accepted the idea that he had devolved into a bloodthirsty killer at this point! - but because he didn't know a goddamn thing about geology.

"Wait but that means you would've died too..." he added as his brain put the pieces together.

"YES! YES I WOULD'VE DIED, YOU IDIOT!"

He didn't answer, but his embarrassed silence really said it all.

"I swear do you actually spend longer than fifteen minutes thinking your plans through!?" Elaris said, her voice raising in volume until it became a harsh, almost Nefarious-like yell.

"Wow Elaris, you're getting really mad at that game! Is your teammate a total noob or something?" Ratchet called from the hallway. He had caught the last thing that Elaris had said as he was walking by, a doughnut still hovering near his mouth. Ratchet was usually one of the last people to leave Galactic Headquarters on account of all the extra-curricular training he liked doing.

"Yes! Yes, he's very much a total noob! He's normally much smarter than this but he nearly went and got everyone killed!" Elaris yelled back, gesturing vaguely at the screen where both her and DrN42's characters were staring at a poorly-textured wall.

There was a mild chuckle from the Lombax. "Okay Elaris, talk to you later!" and with a quick wave of a hand and a Lombax tail, he was gone.

Another awkward silence descended between them as Elaris fought to get her emotions back under control. It felt weird being the angry one. She was so used to being the calm, collected nerd next to the angry, raging nerd back when the two of them worked together as the Nerd Herd. She was used to being the one that would calm Nefarious down, not the other way around, and her gaming partner on the other end knew it from the way he hesitantly tried to help.

"Are you okay there, Ellie?"

Ellie. Like a needle puncturing a balloon, all of her fury drained out of her body when she heard that nickname. It had been years since she last heard anyone call her that pet name, the name she said her grandma used to call her one day while she and Nefarious were trying to fix the ammo capacity of the Bomb Glove, and just the tiniest act of him remembering it calmed her down. Her shoulders sagged.

"I swear you can be so stupid sometimes!" she said, but there was no fire behind her words anymore.

"Okay okay...so I made a rookie mistake!" he said with a chuckle. Was he humoring her? Was the killer robot actually trying to make her feel better? Why? "Next time I'll plan better! The best part about being a supervillain is that you can always try, try again until the heroes lose!"

"How did you make it all the way through med school and then build the blueprints for a giant space station armed with a planet-destroying laser without knowing a single thing about astrogeology?" Elaris said, her face resting in one of her palms.

"How was I to know planets had different cores?"

"That's something you learn in the fifth grade!"

"I never did really pay attention to geology in school..."

Despite that, Elaris felt better. Even though it still kinda stung that she almost died because Mr. Loose Cannon didn't think too hard on the consequences of his own actions, thinking about the previous game sessions brought her happy mood back. She found herself smiling again. He may have allied himself with Chairman Drek and nearly killed them all, but deep down he was the intelligent yet idiotic nerd that she shared a broom closet with, and that brightened her mood in a strange, confusing way.

"Sorry for yelling at you, Nef. I did have a great time!"

"I did too!" he shouted back, his mood immediately bouncing back now that Elaris was happy again. The Galactic Ranger decided not to think too hard on the fact that Nefarious seemed genuinely concerned for her. This situation was already weird enough as is.

"Well, I gotta go now, but thank you for talking to me back on Umbris. I wouldn't be moving out of the broom closet and into an actual laboratory if it wasn't for you!" When he didn't immediately reply back, only giving her a stunned silence in return, she didn't even wait for an answer when she turned off the game. Satisfied, Elaris finally removed the headset and ran a hand across her head. It really was time she got back to her apartment. Leftover ravioli didn't eat itself.

She got up from her chair, took one step, and immediately heard the sad, fizzy squish of her foot colliding with a cola puddle that had been laying there for a solid hour.

Elaris sighed in mild disappointment. She couldn't leave yet.

"I spent two bolts on that soda too..."

------------

"Did you have fun, sir?"

Dr. Nefarious looked up at Lawrence as he fiddled with his eldritch abomination of a gamer rig, his claws entangled in some loose hanging wires and a wide, childish grin on his skeletal face. His handcrafted gamer PC made from Deplanetizer guts and some repair bots was like a new pet to him, and he cherished it as such.

"Did you see us, Lawrence!? We won every match! We annihilated everyone that stood in our way! No one could get past our defenses!" he shouted with all the giddy excitement of a grade schooler. He was gesturing wildly, communicating as much with his arms and hand movements as his face, and from the way he was wrapped up in his PC wires, it was a miracle he didn't strangle himself or trip over.

"Masterful work. I can see why you're so popular with the ladies." Lawrence quipped, sounding about as excited as someone filing paperwork at the DMV.

"And then she told me she actually took my advice and then thanked me for it! She listened to me! You remember, back when I first became a robot! She listened!"

"I think she likes you, sir."

"I think she does! Isn't that wonderful, Lawrence!?" he practically screamed.

This would've been a happy moment, and indeed the mad scientist could feel a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through the circuits in his chest as his mechanical heart fluttered, thinking about his old science partner, if Lawrence didn't immediately chime in with a curt "So why didn't you ask for any of Captain Qwark's patrol schedules or passwords from her again?", ruining the moment instantly.

The warm happy feeling went cold. The excitement bled out of him.

Oh right. The real reason why he logged onto Resistance: Fall of Blarg around the exact same time as Elaris. The reason that Elaris had almost guessed before they ended up just fooling around in an online video game. His diabolical revenge scheme that he had cooked up after he realized that he and Elaris still had each other friended. His fullproof plan that would lead to Qwark's demise.

Dr. Nefarious sucked in a breath and dragged a hand slowly across his face, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Oh..."

#ratchet and clank #Elaris #Dr Nefarious #Ratchet and Clank movie #ratchet and clank 2016 #turquoisephoenix tells a story #Dr. Nefarious #Lawrence #Fanfic #this takes place in the reboot universe so this may not even be canon anymore once the new PS5 rolls around #but I like Elaris so

[nelvana]

In which the god of space is met

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

Warning! This chapter has descriptions of blood and stronger depictions of violence! Reader discretion is advised.

   Dialga gasped as they hit the ground, landing on their side, but they barely felt that pain. This fall was barely a pinprick compared to the deep claw marks in their skin, dented and torn armor, and bruises that would only grow to feel worse when this encounter was over. But even that was nothing, nothing compared to how their throat throbbed from their yelling and screaming, to how their pounding heart ached and cried out for their friend. Tears clouded their vision, making the dark caverns appear fuzzy and almost dream-like in how the light refracted in the water in their eyes.

   How had everything gone so wrong?

   The beginning started out alright, as alright as something like this could go. Once all those from Team Galaxy and allies had jumped through the portal, Dialga paused, and then went right away to readjusting the portal for themselves. They wished that it would be as simple as to allow everyone to skip the dungeon, but there was no sense in arguing against how their powers connected for portal making; it was simply easier to transport themself and Celebi, and arguably Ceebee as well, but they knew she would want to stay with her friends, directly through, but taking mortals would cause problems.

   “Well… here we go,” Dialga had murmured to Celebi, who still fluttered beside the larger pokemon.

   Celebi had simply nodded, but to Dialga’s surprise, then they smiled softly.

   “I am glad to be fighting for the world’s balance by your side,” Celebi told them.

   And that, that alone gave Dialga so much more confidence. Maybe things could be alright. They could bring Palkia to their senses, and finally, finally Dialga and Celebi could enjoy the future together without any worries. Dialga smiled back, thanking their partner and returning the sentiment, before stepping through their portal. Once Celebi was safely across, Dialga closed the portal behind them.

   At the back of their mind, Dialga worried about how long it would take the others to complete the dungeon, and what state they would be when they did come out, but Dialga knew that they had promised to help weaken Palkia until the group arrived, and they were committed to that promise.

   How had everything gone wrong? How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

   Palkia… was not open to negotiation, as expected. Part of Dialga had still hoped though, hoped that they had not been too late for that option to be completely gone. Palkia was, at first, furious to see Celebi and Dialga arrive, blaming them for bringing back the “anomalies”. However, afterwards they offered the pair a chance to team up, to destroy the “anomalies” together and “fix” the world’s balance. Trying to explain that Palkia was wrong, trying to negotiate, only brought the space god to the conclusion that Celebi and Dialga were enemies to them again, and thus Palkia charged into battle, starting the actual fight far sooner than Dialga would have hoped for.

   Palkia wasted no time in utilising their signature move, as they glowed, glowing pink and orange before releasing a pink crescent-shaped blade of energy from their arm at the pair, tearing apart the cavern and space around it to utilize the attack. Dialga growled, acting swiftly to counter the spacial rend with their own signature attack, charging up a beam of energy and blasting it at their sibling’s attack, reversing time and repairing the damage of the area in the process.

   “I’ll back you up,” Celebi had told them quietly.

   The pixie pokemon darted away so fast that Dialga couldn’t keep track of where they had disappeared off to; though this didn’t worry them, they knew they could trust Celebi. Sure enough, it hadn’t been long before several whirlwinds of bladed leaves were sent out at Palkia, scratching the hide of the legendary, who let out a sharp hiss.

   The battle only started well. It only started that way. Palkia only seemed to grow stronger as their body glowed a stronger and stronger burning red-orange and the parts that didn’t grow began darkening as they lose control over themself to going primal.

   Plus, typing wise, Dialga only had dragon-type moves for super-effective damage against Palkia, and their best move for that was their roar of time, which often missed the target completely. Celebi, unlike Ceebee, did not know dazzling gleam, and could only deal neutral damage to Palkia. Palkia themself, however, knew just the right moves to counter both Dialga and Celebi. Dialga resisted many types, but was severely weak to fighting-type moves, so Palkia made sure to make use of the aura sphere attack, which never missed. Palkia didn’t have any type advantages on Celebi, but the size of any attack coming from the space god was hard to dodge and dealt immense damage, and though Palkia already seemed slightly distracted in the heat of the battle, they still seemed to know enough to choose the right moves to target the mythical with.

   Celebi and Dialga had put up a good fight, but now, Dialga weakly wondered if that really mattered in the end.

   Celebi was dead. Their body, discarded just across the room in such a direct way that while Dialga lay prone on the ground they could not turn their gaze away no matter how much they wished to. It had been a swift end, gored by Palkia’s teeth, leaving their corpse in an almost unrecognizable state from being bitten from something so much larger than them. What could be recognized as the same green that had once been bright, were dulled and wilted, like a leaf in autumn.

   Dialga’s throat felt like it was swelling up as they gasped out another sob. Celebi died, died to Palkia as they had to Primal Dialga in the dead timeline; by the teeth of a primal after opposing them.

   How Dialga had been so happy for Celebi’s second chance when the meteor had been destroyed. Guilt constantly ate away at them once they were aware of themself again for killing their friend in the other timeline, despite not being in complete control of their own actions, and Dialga had vowed to make things right for Celebi again now that time had been altered. Celebi had not lived as long in this timeline as the other, but would they have been happier? To have less days where they could see bright colors and the warmth of the rising sun, than to have more days in a dark world of despair? Dialga didn’t know, and they would never know for sure now.

   Did Celebi know that they wouldn’t make it out of this fight? Dialga was certain that the pixie had attempted singing the perish song, right before being cut off by their untimely death and failing to set up the move. It was hard to piece together the exact memory now between the pain, but if that were the case, Dialga supposed it could have been a good strategy, only as a last resort to knock out the legendaries, but it would have killed Celebi in the end anyway. They didn’t even get that sacrifice now.

   Suddenly, Dialga was torn out of their thoughts as Palkia shoved their upper body weight onto them, pinning them to the ground. Dialga hadn’t even felt the willpower, much less the energy, to get back up again before then, but if they were to try, they had just lost their window to do so.

   “How the mighty have fallen,” Palkia hissed, leaning down to Dialga’s face to utter their twisted words. “You tried to STOP ME! And you have FAILED! Don’t worry, dearest sibling… I will FIX everything, FIX what you wanted to DESTROY. You may hate me now, but you’ll understand later, you’ll SEE! YOU’LL SEE! I am only trying to do what is RIGHT! I will SAVE us all!”

   Dialga could only choke out a weak cough in response. They wanted to argue, but their heart ached and their throat was still sore and Palkia’s claws digging into their neck didn’t help.

   “SAY SOMETHING!” Palkia demanded, “is that it? You’re just going to GIVE UP?” they snapped, digging their claws deeper into Dialga’s skin. “FINE. That makes this easier for me. You will thank me later for this.”

   “They won’t thank you! You aren’t fixing anything!” Ceebee cried out, flying out from the shadows as she rounded the corner to enter the room of the fight.

   “You brought OTHERS here?” Palkia shrieked at Dialga, who could only desperately stare out at the other celebi, the shiny one not their Celebi but the next celebi generation afterwards.

   Ceebee didn’t react to the corpse of Celebi, though she seemed already aware of it despite not even looking at it. She knew Celebi was dead the very moment it happened; had she not been brought back to existence then this would have been her birth in this timeline. So, she stubbornly did not look down at the body, as to not scare herself at the sight.

   As the rest of the group entered, however, it was hard not to look at their fallen ally. Dialga’s stomach only seemed to twist further at the audible reactions of horror, and how the concern and fear and confusion was all brought together only to see Dialga pinned against the very pokemon they were supposed to beat.

   “YOU BROUGHT THE ANOMALIES HERE? HERE, in MY domain?” Palkia roared.

   “They aren’t… anomalies,” Dialga wheezed, doing their best to lift their head defiantly.

   Palkia let out a low growl, watching as everyone entered, though fortunately, the legendary did not attack them straight away, and only studied them for a few moments, unintendedly giving them time to take in the scene in front of them instead of being caught off guard by being involved in battle right away.

   “You will be stopped,” Dialga continued, twisting their gaze to stare Palkia in the eyes.

   Palkia laughed, “by WHO? These MORTALS and ANOMALIES you have brought with you?” they sneered, turning to meet Dialga’s gaze again.

   “By them, yes. By them or by Arceus. You know that they will not stand for this, you are destroying the balance that holds space together,” Dialga responded, baring their teeth boldly.

   “By ARCEUS?” Palkia repeated, something unfamiliar crossing their expression. “Do you REALLY think they will come to help YOU? Arceus will never arrive here! You know WHY? You know WHY Arceus cannot come to stop ANY of us?” they yowled, “Arceus is DEAD!”

   Dialga paled, and they could already feel their throat tighten again and head spin.

   “You’re lying,” they managed to hiss back.

   “I’M NOT! WHY DO YOU THINK THEY NEVER SHOWED UP WHEN YOU SENT THE WORLD INTO DARKNESS FOR CENTURIES?” Palkia cried out, their rage melting momentarily into something far more desperate and mournful. “I SAW IT MYSELF AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE AND I COULD ONLY WATCH AND DO NOTHING!” they howled, eyes welling up. “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! ARCEUS IS GONE AND I’M THE ONLY ONE TRYING TO FIX THINGS!”

   For what felt like ages, Dialga could only stare blankly back at Palkia. The illusion vision they had been warned about… had already happened, long in the past it seemed. How could Dialga have not known before? In hindsight, it made sense, it made sense that that was why Arceus had never helped fix things in the dead timeline, but Dialga still could not wrap their head around the idea. Arceus had always been there, the only being to have come before them being Mew themself. Legendaries of their kind had never died before at any point in history, and the idea that something out there could kill gods of this power sounded both impossible and terrifying.

   And yet, and yet, the raw tone in Palkia’s voice, the heartbroken look in their eyes… Dialga knew they were being honest, that this wasn’t something they had been tricked to believe as a strange result of beginning to turn primal.

   “How… How did they die?” Dialga asked quietly, finding themself looking at Palkia with a far gentler expression than they had in a long time. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

   Palkia turned away, screwing their eyes tightly shut in an attempt to rid them of the tears that had sprung up during their outburst. They swallowed a breath, hiccupping slightly as they seemed to consider what to say. As they did this, the weight pushing Dialga lessened slightly, making them wonder if maybe this could be it, if they could turn things around.

   Finally though, Palkia looked back down at Dialga, and though it was hard to see at their angle, Dialga could make out their sibling’s face turn into a scowl.

   “You cannot help. Not anymore. I will deal with this… You are fortunate you cannot die… at least not by me, not that I would want that, I still need you, but… I at least need you out of my way for now, which I can do,” Palkia grumbled.

   With that, Dialga felt dagger sharp teeth sink around their throat. They struggled feebly for a few moments, eyes widened in horror, but it didn’t take long for their eyes to shut and body to go limp as darkness overtook them.

   Palkia stood up, stepping back from their unconscious and wounded sibling and looking down at their handiwork. After simply staring at Dialga for a few moments, they opened a hole in space below the god of time, dropping them into the void and sealing the tiny portal behind them, sending Dialga off to some unknown place in the Spacial Rift. There were a few quiet gasps from the group, though Ceebee was quick to assure them through telepathy that Dialga had not been moved far.

   Finally, Palkia turned back to the group, licking the blood from the lips, smearing the crimson liquid on their face instead of cleaning it in a few spots. Their orange eyes were sharp as they stared down at the group, and glowed dimly in the darkness of the cave.

   “I suppose…” Palkia began, “…that having you here isn’t THAT bad. I can REMOVE the ANOMALIES easier here MYSELF. Especially seeing as my own allies seem to have FAILED me.”

   At being mentioned, the Lake Guardians cautiously floated out from another corridor and into the room. The ditto trudged along much slower behind them, dragging themself across the ground to join the others. It was evident they had been here for awhile, as at the very least, Ditto could not enter the Spacial Rift on their own and would have had to have been brought here by Palkia before all this, though whatever the quartet had been doing before entering was beyond the party.

   “We apologize, Master Palkia,” Uxie told them, “we failed to locate them before they arrived here, but we returned as quickly as we could to help you; as you know. We were unaware that they would come here to disturb you…”

   Palkia narrowed their eyes, “…I will give you three… you three and that THING you’ve gotten another chance to help me make this RIGHT. This time. But you better not fail me here.”

   “We will not fail you, Master Palkia,” Azelf assured them, bowing slightly towards the legendary.

   “Good,” Palkia growled back, barely glancing at the trio floating beside them.

   Turning to focus on the group again, Palkia let their gaze wash over the eight pokemon momentarily before smiling and speaking again.

   “There are… MORE of you than I need to REMOVE. Though only…” They trailed off, eyes darting from ‘mon to ‘mon, and then a second time as if Palkia had forgotten how to count. “…only four of you that are here are PROBLEMS.” They focused their gaze on Ceebee for a moment. “I suppose now that that other celebi is gone, YOUR existence isn’t as PARADOXAL. So, let’s save some trouble, Celebi, Torchic, Absol, and Duskull, if you wish to LEAVE now, no harm will come to you. If you choose to stay and fight with these ANOMALIES, we will be forced to REMOVE you with them,” Palkia offered.

   Keahi, though with shaking legs after what zie had already witnessed, stepped forward and held zirself high, glaring against the powerful being with only a stubborn determination that burned in zir eyes.

   “We’ll never leave them! They are our friends, not anomalies, and we will prove it to you!” zie yelled.

   Tsuki stepped up beside the torchic, “they are not what causes the imbalance of the world, you are. We will fight you to fix the disasters that have befallen this world.”

   “Y-Yeah! We didn’t come this far to just give up here!” Edgar added, voice wavering slightly, though he did not back down. “We aren’t going to abandon our friends!”

   Ceebee’s expression hardened, “what you’re doing here is wrong, Palkia. You may not see it, but your ‘help’ is only tearing everything apart further. We’ve already seen it firsthand.”

   The four of them stood in front of their remaining allies, staring defiantly up at Palkia and their own allies. They were well aware of the risks, but they knew that before coming here. Seeing Dialga and Celebi both fail to come close to beating Palkia had certainly hammered that home, but at least that pair had weakened this legendary. They weren’t going to suddenly turn around now, even with the stakes displaying so horrifically in front of their faces. Behind them, the other four felt a newfound confidence at being backed up.

   Palkia snarled back at them, “you are all FOOLISH! I offered you a chance to SURVIVE and you choose to stay and DIE? You will all DIE for the wrong side? Dialga is foolish too; they have lied to you. I am FIXING everything! You are all only RUINING what I am trying to FIX! All for what? FRIENDS? You are FOOLS! I offered you a chance and you THREW IT AWAY!” they snapped, and then seemed to calm slightly. “Fine, you’ve made your choice. We will offer no mercy now!”

   “We expect that, and will offer you none either,” Ceebee growled, eyes and antennae already glowing with intent.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

#galaxies above #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #team galaxy #nelvana #cubone #keahi #torchic #alex #grovyle #tsuki #absol #edgar #duskull #ceebee #celebi #damien #gengar #dusknoir #dialga #palkia #character death #blood #tw blood #tw character death

[shirtlesssammy]

15x05: Proverbs 17:3

Then:

I’m not crying, you’re crying!

Now:

(weeping in corner ---this is Steve Yockey’s last episode) 

Black Forest, Colorado

Three young women on a Pinterest inspired LL Bean photoshoot getaway, toast to friendship and good times. Now that they’re done with college, two of them have found jobs and are on their way to subverting the new world order of underemployment. Ashley, the other friend, will be driving for Uber. 

They all hear a noise outside the tent. Julie goes for more rum and gets yanked. The other one tries closing the tent but is also yanked. Cue Ashley’s screams!

At the bunker, Sam checks his messages to Cas. He’s been texting and texting but hasn’t heard anything back. I am emotional. Dean is going to bury that shit and not even tell his brother what happened? ARGH. Sam hides his phone pretty quick so it’s obvious that he knows something isn’t right --and he doesn’t needle his brother about it so he knows something REALLY isn’t right. 

Dean’s back from a supply run and is back on his overcompensating with food bullshit. He eats a ghost pepper jerky bite and instantly regrets it. On the plus side, we get this:

Anyway, they’ve got a case. 

*Dream Vision Alert*

Lucifer!Sam sits at a table in the bunker. Dean approaches from behind, draws the Colt, asks for forgiveness, and shoots Sam in the back of the head. Lucifer!Sam doesn’t die though. The wound heals and his eyes glow red. Lucifer!Sam scoffs at the idea that the Colt would kill him, adding, “we both knew it had to end this way.” Then fire consumes Dean. 

Sam wakes in the Impala. Dean wants to know what’s up but Sam will only admit to a bad dream. 

They reach Colorado and instead of their usual routine, Dean pulls out some old school tricks: Fish and Wildlife agents. They were babies! (But this is also just such a nice way to show HOW MUCH Sam and Dean have changed over the years. The story Chuck was telling in season one has changed so much --they are not the same anymore. And while Dean continues to repress his current issues (ala Cas), it’s clear that he’s not the same.)

They go in and talk with the sheriff.

(Also, this is yet another week using an actor that has been in a previous episode of Supernatural. I realize this does happen, but this actress played Tara, the hunter that helped Dean and Crowley find Cain and the First Blade--and the Mark of Cain.) 

The sheriff doesn’t think these attacks are animal in nature. There’s one witness they can talk to. They head to the hospital to talk with her. They ask what she remembers. She flashes back to the forest. She’s running and a man/monster is chasing her. She’s reluctant to talk, but Dean assures her that they’ve heard it all. The man that killed her friends had claws and fangs. A werewolf. Dean tells the poor girl that monsters and werewolves are all real. 

Dean gets a name. Sam points out that it wasn’t a full moon the night Ashley was attacked (Dean suggests pureblood), and Sam sets off to find an address. 

They head to a cabin in the woods where Andy, the werewolf, lives with his brother, Josh. They’re isolated, reluctant to have visitors, don’t have a phone. Just as God intended. Sam and Dean leave. 

Josh yells at Andy for not killing Ashley. I’m just loling all over the place. This melodramatic crazy is TOO much. Family of werewolves that hunt people. Their dad’s dead but it’s the family business. Reluctant younger brother...

The brothers check in at the Sleepy Bear Inn. (Have we mentioned HOW MUCH WE LOVE JERRY WANEK? It’s true!) 

They’ve got Ashley under their protection. They need to go take care of “the lumberjack twins.” Sam wonders why this whole case seems too easy. Lololol. Ashley asks the brothers to stay with her until she falls asleep. Meanwhile, Andy and Josh are outside the motel ready to kill her. 

Dean and Ashley talk about hunting. Dean says he likes his job --helping people. She asks if he ever wanted to be anything else: Jimi Hendrix. He says that so quickly. It breaks me a bit. But then he toes the company line. Ashley wondering how great life would be if it was all planned out. That makes Dean turn a little green. Poor bby. 

Sam wakes Sleeping Beauty - I mean, Dean. He zonked out while Sam headed out to get food and while he was sleeping, Ashley disappeared.

Cut to Ashley who is astonishingly NOT DEAD YET. She’s tied up in a bloody slaughter room, though. The two werewolf bros burst in, mid argument. “This isn’t who we are,” Andy protests, his pure white, tucked-in sweater standing out sharply against the ACTUAL BLOOD SPATTERED WALL. (Like, seriously, guys. Get a cleaning service, at least. That can’t be sanitary.)

“This is exactly who we are,” Josh growls. Hoooo-boy.

Dean and Sam race back to the cabin and quickly follow Ashley’s screams to the slaughter room. Their approach causes the werewolves to scamper, but not very far. As they attempt to escape, the Winchesters and Ashley get ambushed in the main room. The two werewolves get the upper hand on Dean and Sam, and the werewolf with a taste for human flesh closes in on Dean, snarling. Andy picks up Dean’s dropped gun and points it at Sam. He stares between Sam and Josh in agony.

Andy shoots and kills his brother. “He turned into a monster,” Andy explains tearfully. “And I’m a monster too.” He turns the gun on himself, killing himself with one quick shot to the heart. (Jeez, always the heart in this season. It’s almost like it’s an important metaphor or something.)

“That was weird,” Dean says which is like a total UNDERSTATEMENT… But that doesn’t even come close to what happens next. Dean tries to comfort Ashley, who pushes away and…

…trips and falls right onto the antlers. BOOM. Ashley’s dead. Sam, Dean, and pretty much every single one of us viewers stares at Ashley’s body in shock and confusion. That’s…not…normal. Also, this episode is only half over. WTF?

“Well, this is a bitch,” Ashley grumbles, opening her eyes and standing up, still impaled. She cheerfully flashes her eyes white at Sam. She’s LILITH, baby! 

Lilith has clearly never made friends with the phrase “Loose lips sink ships” because she spills E V E R Y T H I N G. Chuck pulled her out of the Empty (where she was dead as a demon doornail), gave her instructions to seduce Dean post-rescue, told her to show Sam and Dean the werewolf murder/sacrifice mirror, and sent her to retrieve the magic gun: Ye Olde Equalizer. 

The Winchesters try to fight Lilith, but she blasts them into the walls, knocking Sam out. Dean promises Lilith the gun as long as Sam’s okay. Same old song and dance, my friends. But now we get the feeling that Dean’s SEEING THE SCRIPT even while he’s still feeling utterly trapped by it.

Sam has another vision while he’s power healing through his latest concussion. This time, Dean’s out to kill a human Sam. Dean, under the influence of the Mark of Cain, murders his brother with the first blade. When Sam wakes, the cabin is empty. 

In the Impala, Lilith is sitting about two feet away from the equalizer gun - still hidden in the glove box- and amusedly answers Dean’s questions. She’s massively irked that she’s back on Earth as part of Chuck’s latest story…when the story she THOUGHT her death was integral to was foiled by the Winchesters. It’s adding insult to injury, man. “Wouldn’t it be great if everything was just planned out for you?” she repeats and then laughs right in Dean’s face. Chuck fed her that line directly. 

Lilith chirpily comments on Chuck’s storytelling propensity and his hamfisted werewolf brother foreshadowing. “It always ends the same,” she tells Dean. “One brother killing the other.” 

Back at the motel, I am still UTTERLY DAMN CHARMED at the Wanek crew’s amazing work on this room. 

For Please Come Decorate My House Science:

Dean tells Lilith that she’ll NEVER get the gun and she starts to slice him bit by bit. It’s the death of a thousand cuts!

Sam breaks in and shoots Lilith in the forehead without another word. He traps her in place with a devil’s trap bullet. “I’ve got you now, my pretty!” Sam should have shouted (but didn’t). What he does do is threaten to kill her. Lilith gets pissed at this. Like, EXCUSE HER VERY MUCH, but she’s a total badass who LET Sam kill her back in season four. Don’t mess with her! 

The Winchesters flee but don’t even make it past the parking lot. Lilith zaps out to meet them. Where’s the gun??? She reasons it out, and concludes that the gun is clearly in the Impala. (Clears throat… The most important car in the universe!?) Lilith finds the equalizer pretty much right away and laughs at how damn easy it was. Which...yeah.

“We’ll get it back,” Sam snarls and without further ado, Lilith melts the heck out of the gun. Now it’s just a cooling black pool against the asphalt. Oooooookay. Plan...X?

Back at the bunker, the boys fortify themselves with liquor. Sam leaves ANOTHER voicemail for Cas. (Pardon me while I take a short break to weep and rend my clothing.) “We gave him the head’s up on Chuck and Lilith,” Dean says. “What else are we supposed to do?” Oh, I don’t know. Probably apologize? Tell him you love him and value him as a person. That sort of thing. 

Dean’s pretty shattered at the revelation that Chuck’s still pulling their strings. Thanks to Lilith, he understands that Chuck wants an ending where one of them kills the other. Sam immediately ties this into the dreams he’s been having. “You’re just telling me this, NOW?” Dean asks. And…I think that reaction is justified. Sam speculates that his equalizer wound is showing him Chuck’s endings and MAYBE a slice of Chuck’s mind. 

“This was supposed to be over,” Dean says in response. “Are we just gonna keep running in this friggin’ hamster wheel until we die? Or we get boring and he ends us?” I’m laughing at the direct commentary on how TV shows live and die but also...DEAN BBY. 

Sam thinks they can fight. Dean wants to know how the hell they’re supposed to FIGHT GOD.

______________________________

Goldilocks and the Three Quotes:

Poor, faithful Dean. We both knew it had to end this way

I’ll Freud you

Whatever you’re about to say, I want you to know that we’ve heard worse. We’ve heard weirder

I don’t lie to you. I look out for you

That’s not how this story goes

Oh, you would promise a girl the moon, Dean Winchester

Of the three potential vessels, Ashley had the best hair

God? He is not exactly Shakespeare. He’s more of a low rent Dean Koontz

Be a good boy and show me that BIG GUN, huh?

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn 15x05 #proverbs 17:3 #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 15

[kenzieam]

Destroyed - Chapter Four     (Chris X Raen)

Rating: M - ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***

Warnings: Violence, language, drama, angst, mentions of abuse and rape

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@iammarylastar​​​​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​​​​ @jewels2876​​​​​​ @moonbeambucky​​​​​​​ @badassbaker​​​​​​ @everythingisoverrated​​​​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​​​​ @oliviastan17​​​​​ @igothroughphasesalot​​​ @sashli​​

I KNOW I’M MISSING TAGS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT IN

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The days wore on, turning into weeks.

Although he wanted to be there every day, Chris forced himself to limit his trips to The Bend to only a couple times a week; sometimes for lunch, sometimes for drinks after dark. He’d learned that Raen often worked both shifts, but he refrained from learning her schedule beyond that, that was just too creepy and stalkerish;  but he held his breath ever day that he journeyed to the bar, hoping that when he entered, he’d see the woman who’d become as necessary to him as oxygen.

To his relief, Raen didn’t avoid him; she treated him as a regular customer, albeit with reddened cheeks and lowered eyes, mumbling her responses while she spoke clearly to everyone else; but her manner with others, as Chris observed, thanks to his former training, was formal and somewhat empty. She kept herself closed and untouched, smiling and laughing politely but never engaging more than skin-deep. With Chris there was more, despite her obvious hesitance.

She looked for him, and while she seemed to become more nervous when he was in the bar, she seemed more settled as well, as if Chris stirred feelings in her that made her antsy because they touched deeper inside her and made her feel safer at the same time, perhaps even without her realizing it.

He made sure to remain unfailing gentlemanlike; it was obvious that she was skittish, had been abused in the past and Chris would have to earn her trust, and rightfully so, before attempting to move any relationship they might one day have any further. It was hard for him though, she called to him like a flame draws a moth and his heart ached to see the pain and fear in her eyes. He would find and kill the man who’d put that there, make the bastard pay for daring to hurt such a precious treasure.

“The usual?” Raen asked quietly, appearing at Chris’ table. She already held the coffee pot, biting her bottom lip shyly.

“Yes please, Raen.” Chris felt himself relax, his body taking a proverbial deep breath of relief. “How are you today?” He watched her fill his coffee cup, noted the delicate polish on her nails, it looked good on her and he hoped it meant she was trying to spoil, to pamper herself.

You deserve everything good, baby.

“Fine, thanks.” She paused, as if gathering the courage and Chris’ fist tightened under the table; the effort he expended every single time she looked vulnerable like this, to not drop everything and draw her to him, hold her until that dread melted away, was herculean. And it was growing more difficult all the time.

Never, he vowed, and not for the first time, will I ever make you feel like that baby, I promise.

“How are you?” There was honest inquiry in her tone, this wasn’t just the dance of customer and waitress, empty answers demanded by decorum.

“I’m good. Better now that I’ve seen you.” There was no point beating around that bush, Chris knew his face lit up every time he saw her; if she’d been involved with Silas’ gang Chris would have blown his cover almost immediately.

Her cheeks darkened, lashes fluttering in a way that made Chris’ heart race. Jesus Christ, he had it bad. “That’s quite the line, Mr. King. Does it ever work?”

His pulse sped up even more at the faint teasing in her tone. “It’s not a line, it’s the truth. And does it?”

Tomato red now, Raen looked away and when she turned back, she’d replaced some of her walls. “What can I get you?”

The walls hurt and Chris swallowed uneasily, but when he glanced back up at Raen he saw her small smile, one just for him; the walls weren’t personal, he realized, just a habitual response. Still, he proceeded carefully.

“Is Wayne back there?” He asked, referring to one of The Bend’s regular cooks.

“No, it’s Pete today.”

Chris exhaled in relief, while Wayne was hella good with burgers, for some reason the man completely fell apart when it came to anything else and Chris was definitely in the mood for a good Club. “Turkey Club please, on brown.”

“Salad or fries?”

“If I say fries, will you share with me?”

Raen smiled, a fond look in her eyes that surprised Chris. “Do you ever let up?” Her teasing tone made his heart sing.

“Can’t help it with you.” Again, there was no use denying it.

Raen glanced back at the kitchen, then down at the watch on her wrist. “I might have a few minutes to spare.” Her tone was lighter now and she flicked her gaze back to Chris, who couldn’t stop a lopsided grin.

“I’ll save you some.” Chris replied, no pressure Raen, come to me when you want.

Raen glided away, eyes lowered shyly again, and Chris exhaled raggedly. He’d never had to work so hard to get a woman’s attention before, but it had never been more worth it. What he’d felt for Erin was like a perversion compared to this; he’d never experienced such a strong tie, without any physical contact either. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive the inferno this woman stirred in him if he was ever allowed to touch her.

He glanced around the bar, nodding at friends and customers, acquaintances and neighbors. There never been a sense of community or family in his life before, certainly not in the sprawling miasma of Los Angeles, not even in a twisted way with Silas’ gang.

“Here you go.” Her musical voice was back; a breath of her intoxicating perfume, mixed in with her natural scent, stirred fresh want in his chest. She set a plate in front of him piled high with crispy fries and a decent looking sandwich and he looked up to find Raen’s eyes before she left him again.

Chris gestured with his chin to the opposite side of the table. “Got those few minutes?”

Raen blushed again, then caught the eye of the other waitress, nodding to let her know she was taking a short break. She slid into the booth with a sigh, smiling bashfully. Grinning delightedly, feeling like he was five years old and it was Christmas morning in the dreams where he’d had Christmas mornings, Chris pushed the plate closer to her, nudging the ketchup bottle over as well.

“Dig in, doll.”

Raen’s reddened cheeks were matched only by Chris’, once he realized what he’d said but she saved him by smiling and reaching for a fry, dunking it delicately in the gravy.

“Yeah,” he continued, striving for a normal tone, feeling like that teenager again. “I like the gravy better too.”

Raen’s answering shy smile lit all kinds of fire in his heart.

She was only able to sit for a few minutes, and Chris felt a real pang of disappointment when she delicately wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and stood.

“I need to get back.”

“Sit with me tomorrow?” Chris winced at the hopeful tone in his voice, if Raen had any sort of mean bone in her body, she’d have an opening right now to hurt him.

“What makes you think I’ll be here tomorrow?” Her tone was light, even playful and Chris’ poor heart was sent galloping afresh.

“A guy can dream, doll.”

“Guess you’ll find out, Mr. King.” She replied, biting her bottom lip then her shyness flooded back in and she hurried away, taking Chris’ heart with her. He loved the way she called him ‘Mr. King’, not out of any patriarchal kick, but because it was special, her private name just for him, an edge of teasing and sliver of attraction softening the formal address.

Chris was on pins and needles all night, pacing his living room before collapsing into a chair out on his apartment’s small balcony and lighting a joint; a fraught hopefulness having seeped right down into his bones. He felt like a giddy teenager; Christ, like a man in love, and a sudden wave of dread crashed over him with the realization. Was he falling right down the same old rabbit hole as he had with Erin? Was he goose-stepping merrily into another trap?

No. He pushed the thoughts aside. Raen isn’t Erin.

Screaming agony tore him awake later. He’d gone to sleep with gentle musings of Raen, her drop-dead gorgeous curves his to finally touch and caress and mold his body around. Bolts of fiery pain shot through his torso, grotesque mimics of the bullets that had ripped through him, rending him from sleep and a scream of anguish poured from his lips; he could feel the blood coursing from his wounds with each desperate pound of his heart, feel the rough, stained carpet beneath his sweat-slicked face. He clawed at his chest, gasping for breath, his bare legs tangling in the sheets before his naked body tumbled from the bed to crash onto the floor, jolting what was left of his breath from his lungs. He lay trembling and panting, fingers clawing uselessly and he was sure he was dying, certain he was back on the floor of that bank, fooled into giving his life for nothing; Silas towering over him, ready to fire the kill shot.

“Nnnnooo.” He managed to wheeze, tears squeezing out from his lids and for a moment everything seemed to end, oblivion seemed to take him down into the Black then he pulled one last scream from his locked-down chest, shattering the nightmare. He convulsed, limbs slamming against the floor and lay winded and wasted, unable to even lift his head for long, terrifying minutes.

Finally, he dragged himself up off the floor, hands shaking as he pulled himself back into the bed and lay curled in the fetal position, trembling. He couldn’t remember the last time his nightmares had been so vivid, so real and it terrified him. What had provoked this?

Was it…?

No. It couldn’t be…

Raen?

Was his mind trying to warn him away from another fatal mistake? Would it truly be the end…?  Would he die this time? It was ridiculous to even contemplate but here, in the stark dark, his body still aching from the nightmare, it became oh so plausible.

What was he thinking? He’d survived once, he’d be a fool to give up his heart again. He was doing the same thing he’d done with Erin, giving up all semblance of himself and tempting that bitch named Fate as he plunged headlong into the spell of another woman.

He lay awake for the rest of the night, shivering, afraid to close his eyes. Work was a chore and, come lunchtime, he glanced at the clock then away. He couldn’t go back to The Bend; he couldn’t continue this. He needed to guard his own heart.

It was the right thing to do. He had to protect himself.

But Jesus God, why did it hurt so bad?

**************************************************************************

Raen chanced a glance at her watch, then scanned the bar. Chris was nowhere to be found, again. It had been a week since he’d asked her to sit with him. Even though he’d looked at her with such softness and excitement at the prospect of seeing her the next day, he’d never shown up. Despite herself, Raen felt a tear trickle down her cheek, which she wiped away angrily.

Like sand, he’d begun to seep through the cracks in her walls; like water gradually eroding away stone, he’d started to wear his way past her barriers.

And then he’d disappeared.

What a fool she’d been. She’d just been lucky she’d escaped without literally bleeding this time. Men were all the same, some played with your body, others your heart, but they all left you broken.

Never again.

*************************************************************************

He couldn’t do it any longer.

He’d stayed away from her for a week, but he physically couldn’t anymore. He needed Raen, she’d become essential to his heart and soul and that certainty wore implacably away at the conviction that he would be destroyed by giving them away again. Surely they couldn’t ache any worse than the anguish he felt now.

His palms were sweating as he parked his bike in the Bend’s lot and he rubbed them down his jean-covered thighs, swallowing nervously. What would his reception be? He’d been making inroads with Raen, and then he’d left. It was a shitty thing to do, but in the end, the draw was too strong. If loving Raen meant his destruction, then he was going down in flames.

It had been a week of loneliness, a week of sleepless nights, of tossing and turning and startling awake from restless dozes with a jolt of heart-pounding panic, nightmares twisting his mind into an exhausted miasma of misery. His body was leaden, weighted down with guilt and shame and just plain lonesomeness.

Even Al had noticed, real concern in his aged eyes as he watched Chris work, probed in his typical roundabout way what his problem was but Chris hadn’t been able to voice it. How did you explain something like this? As time wore on his reasons for staying away from Raen grew weaker and weaker in his miserable eyes, made less sense.

Raen was nothing like Erin, where his old partner had held a deep simmering rage at her childhood, at the hand dealt to her, Raen was pure sweetness, her past experiences only making her kinder and more compassionate. Like the analogy Chris had heard once, one that had resonated with him and made him wonder what he was deep inside, Erin was like an egg, tempered and boiled by the heat of her past into someone hard and unchangeable inside, while Raen was like a tea bag, her natural goodness and sweetness coloring her surroundings, improving everything around her.

It was late, after dark and the throbbing music from the juke spilled out as he opened the door and stepped inside, scanning the surroundings. Like the moth he was, his eyes were drawn immediately to her flame, currently standing at the bar loading up her tray for another waitressing round; her body was his kryptonite, did she realize how goddamn good she looked in those fitted jeans? Steeling himself, he approached, leaning casually against the counter to hide the shaking in his hands.

Had he wrecked what could have been the best thing he’d ever had, before he’d even really had it?

“Hey,” he offered quietly, searching to find her eyes when she turned to face him. What he saw, shock quickly eclipsed by hurt and anger, deepened his anxiety.

“What are you doing here?” That empty tone was back, the wall and that hurt worse than any emotion she could have infused her voice with. Emotion meant there was still a chance, emptiness meant there wasn’t.

“Raen, I’m sorry-“

“I have to work, excuse me.” She pushed past him with a loaded tray and his heart began to thump with dread. The bartender, a friend of one of his former booty calls eyed him with derision.

“She waited for you, asshole.” She spat before turning and storming to the other end.

Chris turned, feeling more scared and more hopeless than he had in his darkest moments with Erin, when Arturo was pacing the shabby living room, holding the handgun and goaded into playing roulette, in those endless moments after the gunshots. Her back was to him, shapely hips mocking him as they swayed. Her smile was soft, her lilac-grey eyes almost serene as she spoke to patrons and passed around their orders.

She wasn’t comfortable among strangers, not yet, but she had learned to disguise it and you’d have to be stone sober to notice the distance in her manner. He waited until her tray was empty and she was on her way back to the bar before trying again.

“Raen, please. Can I just-“

“What do you want, Chris?” He was ‘Mr. King’ no longer, her private name for him gone.

“I need to talk to you.” His hand reached out in desperation and gripped her forearm, pulling her away from the main area.

A flash of real fear, hurting his heart, then anger again. “Leave me alone.” She hissed, ripping her arm away.

“Baby, please!” Desperation made his voice crack, then pain exploded in his cheek and he staggered, eyes wide with shock.

Raen glared fiercely, her hand still raised from slapping him. Slowly, she pointed her finger at him with heartbreaking finality. “Do not call me that. You never came back, remember? I owe you nothing.”

Cold grief wrapped icy fingers around his heart as she turned and stormed away.

He didn’t leave, his body wouldn’t obey his commands. The furthest he made was the far end of the bar, the opposite end from where Raen was working and, although he knew Raen wouldn’t send a glance his way, he watched her all the same, cursing himself for his stupidity.

A cold panic had suffused his limbs, he wanted to grab Raen’s arms and shake her, force her to listen to him, to give him another chance, but that meant that he was a bastard, no better than the man she’d ran from before. He’d fucked up, he was the one to pay for it.

Jesus God, it hurt. His heaven was steps away and he couldn’t reach her. He might as well be on Mars.

A dead feeling was spreading through his body. To walk away from Raen tonight was going to cleave him in half, but what choice did he have?

Throwing down some bills to cover his beer, he steeled himself to leave, to walk away from the best thing he’d never had when a crashing sound hit his ears. He whirled, eyes scanning the bar with practiced skill, his F.B.I. training making a reluctant comeback. He reached for his sidearm, remembered he no longer carried one.

A fight was breaking out in a corner, two men pushing each other, their voices raising in drunken indignation and rage. A glass had already been knocked to the floor, alerting Chris, but it was the men’s physical altercation that was starting to get everyone else’s attention. Chris sized up the situation, not seeing any immediate weapons, but who knew if either man was hiding something? Shit, a broken bottle would be enough and these two looked like the violent type.

Then his eyes found her.

Raen. Trapped in the corner, eyes wide.

Somehow, she’d been on the wrong side of the table when these two had started in on each other, and was now stuck, her back to the wall, two brawling men blocking her escape.

Terror and rage like he’d never felt before filled him and Chris didn’t remember his trip across the bar, his tunnel vision only for Raen, he could be rushing into the path of another bullet for all he knew, and it didn’t matter in the slightest, all he could see was Raen, pressed to the wall, eyes wide with fear, searching for escape. Her eyes met his and if he hadn’t been so blinded by the need to save her, he would have seen the relief in her lilac-grey depths.

She reached for him as he barreled through the brawling men without stopping, elbowing the brutes aside and receiving a glancing fist to the jaw as he went and then she was in his arms and he pressed her back into the corner, shielding her from the fight with his body, glancing back over his shoulder before dropping his head to murmur soothingly to her.

“Chris,” she gasped, voice shaking. Her fingers clawed into his flesh as she shook and if he hadn’t been so intent on comforting her, he would have whirled in a rage and attacked the two bastards who’d made her so scared.

“I’m here, baby.” He breathed, curling around her, ready for the blows to come as he sheltered her but they never did and, as he turned to glance back again, he saw the other patrons and the bouncer had finally kicked into action, dragging and pulling at both combatants, hauling their thrashing asses out the front door.

Only then did he relax his hold enough to step back, his hands staying on her shoulders, unwilling to let go.

“Baby, are you okay?” He scanned her frantically, his hand leaving her shoulder only to cup her cheek and his heart lurched as his eyes landed on blood. “Christ, doll.” He pulled at her, drawing her into better light, his heart thudding with fear.

He tilted her head, gripping her chin, eyes running over her skin and he reached over, grabbing a napkin from a nearby table, dabbing gently at her cheek. His thundering heart eased as he saw the damage, not nearly so grave as he’d feared. Three small dots, tiny bits of broken glass embedded in them and glinting in the light marred her smooth cheekbone and more glass fragments shimmered in her hair that he brushed gingerly away before taking her hand and drawing her down the hallway, to the owner’s office past the bathrooms.

Without knocking he burst through the door, startling the man sleeping in his chair inside.

“Goddammit, Chris!” He swore, jerking awake, nearly falling off.

“Goddamn you, Gus!” Chris yelled back. He reached for the first aid kit perched on the file cabinet and gently sat Raen down on an empty chair before wrenching it open and continuing his lecture. “There’s a goddamn fight out there and you’re in here sleeping! And Raen got fucking hurt!” He broke off and turned his full attention back to Raen, who stared at him with a mix of trepidation and reverence. Gently, his hand shaking slightly, he sponged away the blood with a square of gauze then pulled out the tweezers. Raen’s eyes fell on them and widened, then looked back up at Chris trustingly.

“I’ll be gentle, baby.” He murmured.

Gus had shuffled outside by now and Chris pulled away from Raen long enough to kick the door shut behind him. As he reached to extract the slivers of glass her hand grasped his wrist, stopping him.

“Chris, I-“

“Damn, doll. When I saw you trapped back there, my heart-“ he flinched, pausing in his task long enough to cup her undamaged cheek. After a beat, he tipped his head forwards, resting his forehead to hers, relaxing when she didn’t push him away.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Anything for you.” He vowed, pulling away reluctantly. Raen followed his movements then closed her eyes as he began to extract the slivers. She remained still, not wincing, but then, she’d experienced worse.

Gus returned just as Chris had placed the last steri-strip and was wiping the remainder of blood off her skin.

“Goddamn Buddy Perkins.” He wheezed. “I told that bastard no more fights. He’s banned now and good riddance.” Focusing on Raen, his tone softened. Gus may have been a lazy old bastard, but he cared for his girls. “You okay, hon?”

“Just some scratches.” She replied quietly.

“Take the night off. Hell, take the rest of the week, I’ll still pay you.” He turned his attention to Chris. “You’ll make sure she gets home okay?” At Chris’ nod he looked back at Raen. “That okay, honey? Can Chris take you home?”

“That’s fine.” She was still quiet, but her hand hadn’t left Chris’, her fingers clasping his tightly.

Gus shuffled and wheezed his way back out, his voice thundering once more, shutting down the bar for the night because ‘you miserable sumbitches can’t behave!’ and Chris looked back at Raen, squeezing her hand, a hint of nervousness accelerating his heart now that he no longer feared for her immediate safety.

“You’re sure? I can take you home?” Chris murmured, too far gone to be embarrassed by the pitiful hope in his voice.

Raen sighed quietly. “Why didn’t you come back? I waited for you.”

Chris exhaled slowly. He would tell her, but not here. “Can I talk to you at your place? It’s kind of a long story.”

Raen looked up, meeting his eyes and studying him carefully. He held his breath in trepidation, trying to convey his utter sincerity through his eyes. She sighed, seeming to come to a decision. “Okay… there’s some things about me you should know too.”

“Only if you want to.” Chris murmured back, standing to his full height and pulling her gently to hers. He hovered protectively behind her as she gathered her things from the staff room and took the keys she held out when they reached the parking lot.

“What about your truck?” Raen asked, concerned as she searched the lot.

“I brought my bike; no one’ll take it. I need to work on it and its hard to start right now.”

“Thieves can’t steal what they can’t get running, Raeny baby, mind your daddy.” She suddenly said, glancing over at Chris with reddening cheeks.

“What does that mean?” He asked as he helped her climb into the passenger side.

“Just something my daddy taught me… it saved my life a while ago.”

Chris searched her face, trying to quell the sudden instinct to crush her to him and kiss away her sorrow but he needed to take her home, he needed to explain himself and maybe then… maybe he’d be lucky enough to have another chance with her. Contenting himself with reaching out and covering her hand for a heartbeat, he sighed and started the truck, threw it into drive and left the parking lot.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #destroyer #destroyed #destroyer chris #destroyer chris fanfic #destroyer chris fanfiction #chris x raen #destroyer chris angst #destroyer chris drama #destroyer chris romance

[gigiree]

On Sentiment

Le Paon makes a sentimonster who looks like Chat Noir. Adrien now struggles to take care of him and not let him get hurt like the Ladybug Sentimonster was. I GUESS CONSIDER THIS ME JUMPING ON THE CRACK ADRICHAT BECAUSE IT REALLY IS CRACK. THANKS @buggachat. interpret however you want. im going with agape love.

On the day you are made, it is discovered just how powerful sheer emotion can be. On the day Le Paon swipes her fan and the winds give rise to your form, solid and warm, Chat Noir mirrors your wide-eyed wonder.

You are shocked when his green eyes (exactly like yours) narrow with fear. A hiss escapes his bared teeth. Even his hair seems to be on end, puffing all over the place with the static arcing in the air. You think it’s sort of funny.

What is this strange ticklish feeling in your chest? It’s all bubbly. You don’t stop it as it bubbles up and escapes from your throat. Ah! It’s a laugh. You like it. It’s warm and this new existence is oh so cold.

Le Paon’s will prods at your mind. It makes your body want to leap forward. To pounce and rend Ladybug and Chat Noir into black and red ribbons.

You don’t like that.

But still you pounce because your body burns when you don’t. 

Ladybug and Chat Noir save your feather from Le Paon’s clutches. Things feel a little warmer. A little scarier because things are out of your control, still.

“What do we do with him?! I don’t...We need to find a place for him. I don’t want him to be hurt. Not like her...” Ladybug tells Chat Noir desperately, running her hands through her inky hair. You want to touch it. It looks shiny.

Chat Noir looks pained. Scared. Not distrustful, but he looks at you like he might look at a spectre. He pinches the bridge of his nose with clawed fingers just like yours.

“We have to hide him. He’s got the same powers as me and he doesn’t have a limit that we know of. And I don’t want a version of me running around Paris up to no good.”

Ladybug laughs.

“You’re usually up to no good. Would there be a difference, Kitty?”

Chat Noir pouts. You smile. You like their humor. It’s funny. You want in. You want to be included. The feather in Chat Noir’s hand is held gently. You can trust them.

“Let me stay with you Chat Noir. I promise I won’t be trouble.”

Chat Noir still looks suspicious. Ladybug sighs.

“It’s probably for the best. You said your house is really big. I don’t have that much room in my home.”

So that’s how you, the doppelganger, ends up going home with Chat Noir.

----

Chat Noir, much to your surprise, is Adrien. 

His eyes are still green, but they are no longer exactly like yours.

There’s still the same suspicion in them, but it’s softened by the worry in his eyes as you struggle to slip on the pajama set he gives you. He seems very confused that you are able to take off your suit and glove, but cannot remove your mask or ears.

“H-how...How does that work?” Adrien asks you. Plagg seems unconcerned. He’s already curled up with his cheese on a stinky sock.

Plagg simply says “magic”.

You merely accept it, like you do with everything in this new life. You hadn’t existed up until yesterday. Why question little things now?

“Don’t know.” You say blithely, wincing when you accidentally tear the sleeve of the silky pajamas with your still-sharp claws.

Adrien sighs, but he’s gentle as he extricates your fingers from the fabric and helps you slip it on over your unruly hair. He doesn’t linger. He’s very quick about it.

But you still feel the warmth of welcome in his actions, and it makes you feel at peace. The feeling curls in your chest, warm and content. You let it rise up and lift the corners of your fanged mouth into a grateful smile.

“Thanks!” 

Adrien’s smile in return is sheepish, if somewhat uncomfortable. He tucks your feather under his pillow.

“You’re going to have to stay here until we can figure out what to do with you.” He says, then frowns. “Don’t go out without me. Don’t let anyone in this house see you.”

He tosses you a pillow and a soft blanket. You have to sleep on his spare couch, but it’s warm and you are safe and free.

You have no trouble accepting those terms as you curl up sleepily. You dream of red and black ribbons and feathers floating against the stars.

-------

You break your promise. You let someone in this house see you, but to your credit, it was to save Adrien.

They’d called for Chat Noir and Ladybug. You’d watched as Plagg’s magic, sharp and hor, wrapped itself around Adrien’s form. You’d watched as he’d given you a sharp glare with those same green eyes, before leaping out his window.

He’d left the piano music playing from his phone. You’d hid in his expansive closet. But your sharp hearing catches the jingling of a door knob being shaken. 

You only think of Adrien. You think of his kindness and his gentle exasperation as he’d brought you food and showed you how to brush your hair and told you how to play a game called Brawl Bros.

You only think of Adrien when you wrap himself in one of his luxury cardigans and sit on the piano bench and set your claws on the bench. 

You catch your reflection on the shiny, black surface of the piano and nearly hiss. You will yourself to change. You will it so much that your body burns.

It burns as your ears recede and your mask disappears and your claws shrink a bit.

It is without much fanfare that Nathalie opens the door, merely sees your mop of golden hair moving over the top of the piano, and leaves. She’d bought the ruse.

You stay there a bit more, heaving a sigh of relief. When you look back at your reflection, you are shocked to see that you look a little more like Adrien...but you’re not him. Your corneas are still green. Your fangs still large and your mask has gone away, only to give way to an inky darkness that mars the space around your eyes.

Strange.

You are tired. You take your blanket and your pillow and curl up in the closet to rest. The bed is Adrien’s space. You refuse to take it, in any capacity. You are not him.

-----

When Adrien and you can finally get down the rules for your ability to change your features, he decides it’s safe to take you to school.

“So yeah. This is my British cousin from my mom’s cousin’s uncle’s side. His name’s Garfield. He’s decided to study in Paris for a year.”

Nino blinks at you. Then he blink at Adrien. Then he blinks at you once more. 

“The family resemblance is uncanny, man. Your other cousin Felix looks just the like two of you too. Daaaamn.” He finally announces. 

Adrien sighs with relief. The arm he’s slung around your shoulder relaxes.

“Hahaha. Yeaaaaah. Family genes are strong. But Garfield, meet Nino.”

“Nice to meet you, bro.” Nino says, offering his hand.

You have it. You have your own name. It makes you so incandescently happy. You feel that familiar bubbling sensation in your chest. The one you know means you want to laugh. You do not hold back. Adrien usually holds back his laughs. Tucks them into the corner of his mouth and releases a modest puff of air when around people he doesn’t feel comfortable with.

You, however, have no such compunction. You were created in Chat Noir’s image. And Chat Noir laughs freely.

So you do.

You reach forward to take Nino’s hand and shake it so hard, his headphones rattle.

Adrien looks embarrassed. Nino looks enthused. 

Your sharp hearing catches the whispers of speculation from the class. But Adrien looks relieved and he shoots you a quiet smile that says “good job.”

You are warm and content. You have two friends now.

----

Marinette makes for a wonderful, third friend. She also happens to come with a myriad of others clinging to her wake.

He can’t blame them. She’s so bright and kind, she matches Adrien well.

She takes your hand after you cut it trying to work on your physics project. She uses a pretty, embroidered handkerchief to wrap up your wound. Her blue eyes echo familiar as they peer up at you.

“Up to no good again, Garfield?” She says this, but it’s teasing. 

That echoes familiar too. Her small hands are warm. 

You’ve already decided that you like her by the time she’s done wrapping up your wound.

“I can help you with this?” She gestures towards the pile of foam blocks on your desk.  

You feel a burning on your face. Ah embarrassment. Still, laughter always feels good. So you laugh at yourself. Then you nod. 

“Yes please. I’m not all that good with this stuff.”

----

Adrien screams into his pillow.

Plagg looks a bit sad as he curls up next to his boy. You click your claws together in agitation. It seems your base form will always be of Chat Noir’s double. It’s the most comfortable way to be when you want to rest.

A lot had happened today.

You’d stayed out of the way, but your sharp ears had overheard it.

Adrien begging his father to show up for the school’s talent day. His father’s frigid dismissal. Then he’d leapt out the window leaving you behind.

He’d come back. A little angrier, a little sharper. But also resigned. Like he’d given up on something that had been making him happy.

You don’t have to ask much to gather that it is Ladybug. He’d gotten a more final answer.

“She likes someone else.”

You don’t know what to do about that. The one time you’d met Ladybug, you’d thought she was kind. A good person. Remarkable. But you’ve met plenty of kind people who are remarkable in their own way. 

Rose was remarkable when she’d made you a bracelet. Juleka when she’d done your makeup for a fun class film. Alya when she’d taken your hand and shoved an ice cream cone into it while you’d hung back from the group. Nino when he’d shown you his wonderful new remixes. Kagami when she’d arm-wrestled you and laughed as she took your arm down. Marinette was remarkable when she brought you eclairs everyday because you’d said once a while ago that you liked them.

Adrien was remarkable when he’d brushed back your tangled hair and asked you to play video games with him. Adrien when he’d shared with you his collection of favorite anime. Adrien when he let you make a mess and try on all the interesting clothes in his closet.

Adrien when he’d handed you your feather in a show of ultimate trust. He’d freed you.

Your chest feels tight? The color green comes to mind, but you don’t think much of it when you sit on the foot of his bed.

“I’m sorry. That...That sucks,” You say quietly. Which is unusual for you.

Adrien doesn’t move, but he moves to face you. HIs gaze softens with sorrow.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Garfield.”

Then you snort.

“I get it now. You named me after a fat, orange cat.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. Good. You’ve distracted him.

“An iconic orange cat.”

“I don’t eat that much!”

Adrien grabs his pillow, startling Plagg and hits you with it. You fall on the bed from the impact. The pillow over your face.

“You’re a good friend, Garfield.” He says after a moment.

 Adrien’s laughing. You’re in his space, and it’s okay. You’re his friend.

-----

Marinette likes Adrien. She’s told you this in confidence.

You don’t quite know what to say. Pain is a nasty feeling. It eats away at your chest and kinda makes you want to pounce just like Le Paon had. Pounce away from the source of the pain. Marinette is your friend. 

She cries into her hands. She’s been tired as of late. More stressed. Then she’d overheard Adrien rejecting an upperclassman’s confession.

I’m sorry. I like someone else.

She falls into your arms when you offer her a hug. 

The tight feeling in your chest returns. It’s painful, but not angry. You know it could easily become a bad thing, but your appreciation runs too deep to do so.

You keep it to yourself, but you get it. You understand Marinette. You really do.

Because Adrien is remarkable and it’s finally hit you that golden things can’t stay.

-----

You hold your feather in your hand. It’s fading.

You and you alone are responsible for this. Choice is a wonderful thing.

You take the shot for Ladybug and Chat Noir. For who you know now are Marinette and Adrien. The people who are most precious to you.

Rena Rouge shrieks behind them, just running up to catch sight of this new Sentimonster’s beam of energy piercing through you.

It was a good life. A short one, but the choice is all yours.

Because you exist. Because you feel. Because you’re you and your friend gave you a name and a home and memories worth dying for.

You feel really warm in their dual embrace. Chat Noir’s holding you. Ladybug’s stroking your hair. Rena Rouge has knelt to hold one of your clawed hands. Carapace watches, grief etched onto his face.

You suppose, you should feel grateful. Although you wish you could’ve spent a little more time with them.

Just a little more. You fade away, a “thank you” the last thing that floats from your lips like a lost feather in the breeze.

-------

You wake.

Their smiling faces greet you. Your friends.

They look a little older. A lot sharper and care worn, but their hands are warm as they stand you up in your shaky, solid form.

“H-how?” You cough out, incredulous.

Adrien laughs. Marinette looks amused.

“We made a wish. We missed you, Garfield.”

You feel that familiar bubbling feeling in your chest. You are breathless as you laugh and that laugh turns into sobs.

It hurts to feel, but it’s such a warm, comforting pain.

You’re glad of it.

#adrichat #adrien agreste #chat noir #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #WHAT THE FUCK GUYS. WE GO ON QUARANTINE AND SUDDENLY WE'RE ON FIRE WITH SELF LOVE

[of-the-silver-lining]

Prompt #5: Matter of Fact

(This is something of a follow-up to last year’s Scour)

(Content warnings: Character deaths, death in general, corpses)

A haze hung over the desert as the five of them, dressed in their full-body protective gear, opened the hatch of the tank cruiser and stepped out onto the undisturbed dust. No breeze blew, and their footsteps, their breathing through the tubes, and the hum of the aetherial barrier within their suits were the only sound to reach their ears. 

The sun burned as an orange disc above them in the perfectly still and silent air, and they started forth without saying a word. Rocks and the distant Gyr Abanian mountains loomed above them in the haze like silent, floating ghosts. Withered shrubs still dotted the landscape, as still as if they were frozen in time.

Before them through the haze, the silhouettes of tents and motionless flags grew visible, and soon, countless shapes that dotted the ground, little dark mounds.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Annelise said. Her voice was muffled through her breathing apparatus and the mask of her suit, and small in the deafening silence. She paused, and the others turned back to her.

Lilimo sighed audibly in her tiny suit. “I’m afraid the time for raising doubts is over. We’ve come all this way because we need those samples.”

Biggs III’s enormous suit towered over her. “If you don’t want to come, you can wait with the tank cruiser,” he said gently.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just...” Her eyes under her dark bangs darted from the mounds on the horizon to G’raha Tia and back. She probably hoped he didn’t see through the glass square on her headgear, but he did.

“This place is a grave,” said Arvin, a sad look in his dark eyes behind the glass. “This is where it happened, it should be as sacred as anything in this world could be. I feel in my bones we should not be here. All we can do is be respectful.”

“They would want us to continue our work if it means we can someday heal the planet,” said Biggs.

“Come now,” G’raha Tia said, fearing Annelise would push the matter, “Our time is limited. We cannot waste our air supply.”

With that, he headed onward and the others followed. The tents and lean-tos of the old military camp came more into view, the cloth of some of the tents still a brilliant Ala Mhigan purple and silver. Banners of the Alliance hung limply over some of the tents; from here, besides Ala Mhigan purple, he could see the blue of Ishgard and the yellow of Gridania.

And then, there were the bodies. They appeared as vague shapes littering the ground, until the group drew closer, and G’raha could make out the beaked griffin uniforms of Ala Mhigan Resistance members. When they reached the edge, they stopped, wordless, looking out over the corpse-ridden camp.

They were not dust and bones beneath faded cloth. Their skin had not rotted away or been dried out by the natural processes of the desert sun. They were perfectly preserved, as if time had stopped the moment they died, freezing the entire scene like a macabre painting. They looked almost unreal, like wax sculptures. Fingers were clawing at the dirt, hands were reaching for the sky. Some were clutching each other, some were curled up as if in the womb, and some held their heads in their arms or covered their noses and mouths with their hands or clothing. Their faces were frozen in agonized screams, contorted in pain, or, perhaps worst of all, wide-eyed in shock.

The five companions stood silently for a moment, taking in the utter horror of the scene. Annelise raised her hands and muttered words of prayer under her breath, and after a moment Arvin did the same. Lilimo put a hand to her chest and said, “To all those who rest here, please forgive us our disturbance.”

Biggs stepped forward and knelt by one of the soldiers, a wide-eyed young Hyuran man who lay on his stomach, head turned, mouth open, and teeth biting into the dirt. “It seems the theories were correct,” he said gravely.

Lilimo nodded and knelt next to him. “In this concentration, Black Rose has frozen all natural processes, even after all this time. All forms of aetherial flow are still utterly halted here. They do not decay, because no process that could decay them can continue. All micro-organisms are also dead, the sun does not dry, the rain does not fall, the wind does not weather. The toxin lingers in the air and the soil to keep it that way. I wonder if this land could ever recover.”

“Gods...” Arvin murmured. “One struggles to believe they are two hundred years old.” Through his headgear, his usually tan face looked a sickly shade of gray.

They continued on their way through the camp. Arvin, despite the irrepressible horror on his face, was a historian to the end and diligently removed a notepad from his pack of supplies and began scribbling notes. “These tents must have been where the Ala Mhigan soldiers slept,” he said aloud, as if trying to break the tension of their silence, “It looks like they came running out and... And, over there, I think I see all the banners in a row, that must have been where the Alliance leaders met. I wonder if... if we have time to see the tent where they met with Emperor Varis zos Galvus. I suppose it should be on the other side of... of... the hill.”

G’raha Tia was a historian as well, and distantly, he could understand the young Hyuran man’s fascination with a perfectly preserved scene from two hundred years ago. This, however, was not history to him. These were the nations of Eorzea as he had known them. It was nothing like history. As if the world had not become surreal enough, it was like stepping back into his original time, his all-too-recent other life.

Soon the five of them split up. Lilimo and Biggs went to gather samples of the cannisters used to deploy Black Rose as well as the air, soil, and other materials, and Arvin went to survey the camp and flesh out his drawings and notes. 

G’raha Tia was about to start off alone toward the middle of the camp when Annelise caught his shoulder with her gloved hand, and he turned back to her. “Wait,” she said. “You don’t need to do this. You can go back and wait for us.” Through the glass, most of her face was hidden beneath her breathing apparatus, but he could see the worry for him in her dark eyes.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said flatly, “But as I’ve said before, I do need to do this.”

“You must have seen enough,” she urged. “I promise, we’ll tell you if we... if we find anything.”

How could she understand? From the moment he awoke, everyone he met had been telling him things. He heard the end of stories he had lived in, and two hundred years worth of the future’s history--of Iris’s deeds of heroism, and of Cid’s life’s work left behind and the memories and legacies of the Ironworks. He explored the lifeless wastelands that remained of places he once knew, and it still failed to impress upon him that the world he knew was truly gone.

The decision he had made when he closed the doors of the Crystal Tower could not exactly be called spur-of-the-moment, but it was closer to that than to a long-prepared plan. He had closed the door filled with excitement to see the possibilities of the future, but with little thought to his own preparation for the permanence of what he was about to do. 

He never imagined anything like this. Every day he labored to accept the enormity of it. He knew it in his mind, but his heart held out some strange hope. Somehow, he still wondered if he would wake up at Saint Coinach’s Find in his tent and it would all have been a dream, or Cid and Biggs I and Wedge and Iris would appear and lower the curtain on some charade: “Wasn’t that a show! You’d better not be thinking of leaving us, G’raha Tia--look what might become of you!”

He didn’t have time to explain.

“If she’s here,” he said. “I need to see it for myself.” 

Thankfully Annelise did not follow him. In the middle of the camp, a large tent stood, striped in the colors of Ul’dah and Ala Mhigo, and some ways before it lay a cluster of bodies. These were all dressed differently, not in uniforms of any kind. A large man missing one arm seemed to be the only one among them dressed militarily, though from his elaborate armor he must have ranked highly. As he noticed the bull on his pauldron, he realized he must be looking at Raubahn Aldynn, the Bull of Ala Mhigo.

He continued on to the others, where a blonde-haired Hyuran woman all dressed in red lay staring at the sky. Some paces away he found a heart-rending sight; a Miqo’te woman was slumped over a white-haired Elezen girl, a staff still clutched in her hand, as if she had been trying to heal her. He bent down beside them. The healer’s glassy eyes were staring in shock and horror, but the Elezen girl’s were closed as if in peaceful sleep, the first serene face he had seen. Perhaps the healer had managed to give her some comfort in her last moments. 

Then, he noticed the tattoos on the Miqo’te woman’s neck--tattoos just like his. She was from Sharlayan, and an Archon. So the Scions were indeed here, as history had recorded. His heart sank with dread. She must be Y’shtola Rhul, Master Matoya’s pupil. Which would make the younger woman possibly one of Master Louisoix’s grandchildren, and the woman in red Lyse Hext, the Scion who had returned to fight for Ala Mhigo.

He rose to his feet, beginning to feel dizzy and ill. On the dusty, sandy ground, he spotted a peculiar trail: footprints. They led away from the bodies toward the southeast, and they were spaced far apart, as if the person was running. Likely they were there before the massacre, he thought at first, but he examined the ground beside the bodies, where it appeared they originated, as if someone had knelt or sat there, and then scrambled up to take off running.

Treading beside them so as not to disturb them, he followed the footprints as they led through the camp past more corpses. He saw many mail-clad bodies of Ishgardian knights, lying on the ground and up on top of the rocky outcroppings, where they must have been standing watch. At the edge of the camp, the footprints went on into the desert, and the runner’s pace showed no sign of slowing.

They must have been left there shortly before the gas had been deployed, G’raha told himself. Or they were left by someone else who had returned to the scene; perhaps other groups had developed the means to survive out here. After all, how could anyone have survived Black Rose long enough to run so far? Unless...

He pushed any speculation from his mind, focusing on the sound of his even breaths as he pressed on, loud inside his suit in the silence. He was compelled to see what was at the end, if he could reach it before his air ran low and he had to turn back.

Past the rocks, G’raha Tia squinted over the wide, flat plain, and distantly to the east, he could see the walls and towers of a city--the ruins of Ala Mhigo. Presently, he caught sight of a glint in the dead orange light. Glare on his mask, he thought at first, but as he pressed on, a shape came into view among the sparse, scrubby desert plants that were still rooted in the ground, a dark form lying in the dust.

The breathing that reached his ears turned shaky. He crept closer and saw the glint of metal--a clasp on a leather bag that lay on the ground. He could see leather boots, travelers’ clothes of green and white, and... an enormous bow and quiver on the corpse’s back, and the shine of golden hair. The footprints ended.

He ran to the fallen figure. All he could hear was his breathing quickening into frantic gasps. She lay on her stomach, her head turned to the side. He did not recognize her clothing or her bow, but beside her lay her small harp, the same harp he had heard her playing and singing to in Mor Dhona’s forest of crystals, the same harp he’d asked her to borrow to awkwardly pluck out an ancient song, and coaxed her to play along with him at the campfire late one night. Her fingers were curled and clawing into the dust, where they had left deep scratches.

Her hair was longer than it was when they had explored the Crystal Tower together, and it lay obscuring her face. It was undoubtedly her, undoubtedly... but he had to be sure. 

He knelt beside her, and with shaking hands, he touched the corpse’s hair, and slowly brushed it away from her face. He found himself looking into the familiar face of the Warrior of Light, the face he had seen many times in the Crystal Tower. It was no surprise, but that didn’t lessen the horror. His friend’s eyes were squeezed shut, her brows furrowed in sorrow, as if she had been crying.

A cry tore from his own throat and he stumbled back. He fell to his hands and knees, fighting back the urge to retch and the urge to tear off his suit’s headpiece and breathing apparatus. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he gasped desperately into the mask.

He had finally found her, and the truth had found him. The revolting, undeniable, inescapable truth. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, the Eighth Umbral Calamity had ended the Warrior of Light, and all the hope she had brought to the world, along with almost everyone he had ever known. It made no difference what vain hope he held on to. Whether or not his heart had refused to face the truth. It was not a matter of belief. It was a matter of fact.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, sitting beside her body with his head bowed. Eventually, the others found him. They must have guessed what he had found, because they didn’t call out to him, but walked up quietly beside him.

“Is it really her?” Lilimo finally asked and G’raha nodded. “She looks so...” she began, but Arvin nudged her with his knee and she fell silent.

Biggs knelt down beside G’raha and rested his large hand on G’raha’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“This is all wrong,” he choked. “All of this... is a mistake. As you said, I should not have come here.” Hot tears streamed down his face. He knew he was making no sense, but he didn’t care what they thought of him. “I told her that history would remember her... but not... this is not.... This was never supposed to happen. How could this be the fate of the world?”

“It’s not,” Biggs said, to G’raha’s surprise. “That’s why we’re going to change it.”

“This may be our world, but we’ve always known that,” said Annelise. “After all, it’s what we are all working for.”

“Aye,” said Lilimo. “Many of us grew up with the Ironworks, living with Cid Garlond’s legacy, dreaming of a different world that could have been.”

“Knowing in our hearts that it should have been,” Annelise added. “I’m sorry we had to awaken you to this. It was cruel. But it’s only because we have a real chance.”

“I can’t promise that you will meet her again,” said Biggs. “but after all this time, our dream might be close to being realized. Even if none of us ever see it, I hope you can take comfort in knowing you were part of it.”

When they left the desert of Gyr Abania, G’raha was silent, his heart hardened with a new resolve. The facts may be indisputable, but he refused to accept them, and he was not alone. They would upend time and space itself in the hope those facts could be unwritten.

#oh my goood so yeah i was working on that for days #i hope make-up day can be used for such an old prompt #i have no excuse for myself except my add #really really really needs some editing and rewrites #but i will resist #i think it broke me out of my writing slump though #but god damn why do i write such horrible depressing stuff #cw: death #ffxivwrite2020 #g'raha tia

[setaripendragon]

Never Simple - Chapter 6

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] Happy winter holidays to everyone! This chapter is entirely explanations. It felt cathartic to write for me, but it does go over quite a lot of the awful from the last chapter (check those warnings), so if that upset you, this might not be entirely safe to read either. And an extra warning for actual on-screen cannibalism.

The only thing Ed could do was get Nina out of the lab and away from… everything. So, feeling sick to his stomach and hollow right down to his bones, he tucked Nina’s head against his shoulder and picked her up while she continued to clutch at his shirt with hands like claws and scream her head off. Then he turned towards the door, and froze.

Roy Mustang was standing there, turned to a badly lit silhouette by the light from the stairway, one hand still raised with fingers poised to snap. “Mustang.” Ed said dumbly, while inside him, Truth coiled, tense and wary. The sound of his name seemed to knock the man out of whatever stupor had caught him, and he shook himself, lowering his hand and very carefully stepping out of the doorway to make room for Ed to pass him. Ed didn’t move, though. “What’re you doing here?”

“I called him.” Al said from somewhere beyond the doorway.

That made sense, Ed thought. He felt a little perturbed that he couldn’t even remember noticing that Al had disappeared at some point during the confrontation with Tucker. He knew he’d been a little preoccupied, but that was worrying. Nina’s scream finally tapered off, only for her to suck in a deep breath, and start wailing. Ed winced, the sound piercing him right to his core and twisting him up into knots.

Mustang cleared his throat. “You should… take Nina upstairs while I deal with Tucker.” He stated. Ed nodded, and with a little help from Truth, forced his feet to start moving again. He stopped with one foot on the stairs, though, with Al hovering worriedly several steps above him, to look back at Mustang. The man had paused when Ed did, and was looking back with a worried frown.

“Don’t kill him.” Ed said, half way between a request and a warning.

Mustang’s expression softened for a brief moment when his eyes flicked down to Nina, still wailing into Ed’s shoulder. “I won’t.” He stated, and Ed nodded. “Oh, but, Elric?” Mustang added as Ed began to turn away, halting him in his tracks. The expression on Mustang’s face when he looked back had gone steely with determination. “I’m going to expect a full explanation for all of this once I’m done down here.” He commanded.

“Sir, yes sir.” Ed replied, mustering up a little sarcasm from the dregs of his reserves. If he wasn’t much mistaken, there was the barest flicker of a smile on Mustang’s face before he turned his back on Ed to face the mess in the lab. Without another word, Ed resumed climbing the stairs towards Al’s worried face. Once at the top with Al at his side, Ed hesitated. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do now. He dismissed the idea of trying to put Nina to bed. She doubtless wouldn’t be sleeping well for a long time yet, and nightmares were the last thing she needed right now, and besides, Ed wasn’t sure he could bear to let her out of his sight.

“Let’s go sit in the kitchen.” Al suggested. “We can-” He faltered for a moment, but then shook himself and stood a little straighter to press on. “We can all have some cocoa to help us calm down.” Like their mum used to do for them, when they woke up in the night with bad dreams. Ed nodded wordlessly, and followed his brother into the kitchen. He debated putting Nina down in one of the chairs, but she refused to let go of his pyjama top when he tried, so he relented and just settled her on his lap when he sat down. Al bustled about making cocoa, Nina’s wails lost some of their energy and turned into gasping sobs, and none of them said a word.

It wasn’t too long before Mustang found them. He looked a little surprised to see the mug of cocoa waiting for him in front of one of the empty seats, but he sat there and picked it up to sip at it with a tired attempt at a smile. “Thank you.” He said, and it was so innocuous, so bland and polite and ridiculous, that Ed almost laughed. The urge died a moment later, however, when Mustang put his mug aside, braced his elbows on the table, and fixed Ed with an unwavering stare to say; “What, exactly, are you?”

Ed thought that if he hadn’t been so tired, so completely overwhelmed, that question might have freaked him out. As it was, he just had no idea how to answer it, but he knew he had to. Nina was quieting herself down, trying to listen without drawing any attention to herself, and she certainly deserved an answer, whether or not Mustang did.

“He’s my brother.” Al interjected defensively.

Mustang glanced at him, one eyebrow twitching upwards, before looking back to Ed. “And that thing you turned into down there?” He challenged.

Of course Mustang saw that. Resigned, Ed decided that words were just not going to work for him right now, so he simply laid one hand on the table palm up, and gave Truth a mental nudge. The response he got from Truth could basically be summed up as a vehement Nu-uh!

Don’t be a baby. He’s already fucking seen you, it’s not like he’s just going to forget you exist. Ed chided, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Truth didn’t at all act like the terrifying ancient monster it actually was. With emphatic reluctance, Truth oozed up out of Ed’s palm, tendrils of white biomass weaving together to form a little pod of a head. It looked, Ed thought with an edge of hysteria, like a sock-puppet. No eyes to speak of, but a thin little slit of a mouth where it was trying very hard not to show off its teeth.

“Oh.” Nina said, and reached out with one hand to poke at Truth. It bore the attention with only a vague sense of indignity, which melted away to fondness when Nina started petting it instead. It let out a quiet little croon of pleasure, a buzzing vibration that made Nina giggle. Then a couple of little rust-red tendrils flailed their way out of her wrist to pat at Truth’s head as well, and Nina recoiled in shock. The tendrils retreated with just as much alacrity.

“This… this is Truth.” Ed said, lifting his hand a little to indicate what he was talking about.

Mustang stared at Truth, then raised his eyes to meet Ed’s. “What is it?” He asked again.

Ed blinked at him, his mind drawing a complete blank on how, exactly, to answer that question. He let out a slightly deranged laugh. “I have no idea.” He said, which obviously did not reassure Mustang at all. Truth projected a mental sensation of being whacked upside the head at Ed.

“It would not be incorrect to call us a symbiote.” It explained.

Mustang twitched a little when it spoke, but otherwise contained his reaction quite well. “A symbiote.” He echoed flatly, eyeing Truth shrewdly. “That implies a certain level of cooperation, or perhaps even alliance, considering you appear to be sentient.”

Truth bobbed its head in a nod. “We’re working on that.” It confirmed, and Ed snorted.

Mustang stared at them for a painfully drawn out moment, then he bowed his head to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I have far too many questions.” He said, mostly to himself, Ed thought. Then he raised his head again. “How long, exactly, have you… been with Elric?” He asked of Truth, faltering only a little over his words, which Ed thought was truly impressive.

“Since mere hours before you met us.” Truth answered.

Mustang just nodded like he expected that. “And before that?”

“I guarded the Gate.” Truth stated.

Mustang’s eyebrows rose, but before he could actually voice the question, Ed answered it for him. “The Gate is a cage that Truth built between the building blocks of reality to contain the rest of its species.” He explained. “Because most of the rest of its species are assholes.”

“Assholes?” Mustang echoed, faintly amused. “That doesn’t make very much sense for a symbiotic species.”

“They were not always this way.” Truth said, and it was hard to tell with the way its voice reverberated and echoed strangely, but Ed thought it sounded almost as sad as it felt. “We were once… better. I cannot say we were peaceful, but we were better. But we became corrupted, we began to believe that we were better than our hosts, that they ought to bow to our will, and so we began to consume them in unsustainable numbers. I was fortunate enough to find a compassionate host to teach me better, and when we saw with clear eyes what the rest of us had become, we knew we had to stop them, before they killed all humans and caused their own destruction.”

Nodding slowly, Mustang laced his fingers together in front of his face and frowned very intently over them at Ed and Truth. “And what happened to this Gate once you stopped guarding it?” He asked, sending a chill of realisation and fear through Ed.

“The Gate will continue to stand unless someone on the outside deliberately tries to tear it down.” Truth assured both Ed and Mustang. That was not quite as reassuring as it could be, but Ed would take it. “Greater numbers may be able to escape if I am not there to close the Gate behind any alchemist foolish enough to attempt to rend the fabric of the universe, but we have come to the reluctant conclusion that there are enough of our kin already walking free that we must act to stop them now.”

“How many?” Mustang asked, closing his eyes as though that might make the answer easier to bear.

“Dozens have escaped the Gate.” Truth informed them, and Ed didn’t know whether to wince at how high it was, or sigh in relief over how low it was. Mustang looked distinctly relieved when he opened his eyes, and the pity Ed felt coming from Truth at the expression made him decide that wincing was the right answer, so he did. “Some may have died in the intervening years, but also, some may have spawned, as Mania did.”

“Mania?” Mustang echoed.

“The one in the jar downstairs.” Ed informed him hollowly.

Mustang screwed his eyes shut and pressed the forefinger and thumb of one hand into them as though he was getting a pounding headache. “On the desk?” Mustang checked, and Ed hummed an affirmative. “It… spawned?” He asked, finally winching his eyes open to stare balefully at Ed and Truth. Ed nodded, something sticky and unpleasant clogging up his throat and making words hard to come by. He thought it might be guilt. Mustang glared at him. “A little more information would be helpful, here, Elric.” He bit out. “Exactly how many of these symbiotes do I need to be concerned about?”

Ed glared right back. “There are only three still alive in this house.” He spat out, even though just saying it made him feel sick. “Truth, Mania, and the one inside Nina.” Does it have a name? He asked Truth, feeling a little bit awful that he didn’t know.

Probably not, yet. Truth replied with the mental equivalent of a shrug. It takes time with a host to find a concept that fits. You should explain to him about the others. It added, and when Ed baulked at the idea of saying it out loud, took the duty upon itself with a scoff. “We sent the other two living infants to the Gate.”

Ed was a little relieved to see that Mustang winced at the word ‘infants’, too, but the man didn’t actually comment, or question the decision. “And there were no others?” He checked, instead.

“None that we saw.” Ed confirmed. “Except the dead ones in jars.” He added bitterly.

Everyone flinched at that, but it was Al who actually put his mug down hard enough to spill cocoa over the lip and stared at Ed in sudden, wounded horror. “Those… those were all…?” He breathed, before pressing a hand over his mouth.

“Dead babies in jars.” Ed confirmed bitterly. Nina made a tiny choked noise, and Ed immediately felt guilty for saying that in front of her. He held her a little tighter in apology.

“Nina?” Al asked softly. “Do you want to come and sit with me in the living room while Brother talks to Colonel Mustang?” Nina shook her head violently without looking up, and attached herself more firmly to Ed. Al looked helplessly at Ed, who shrugged. He still didn’t quite want to let Nina out of his sight, anyway. Mostly because he was terrified that if he did, the… the symbiote inside her would take the opportunity to go on a rampage, and he wouldn’t be there to stop it.

Mustang sighed, then visibly steeled himself, straightened his shoulders, and ploughed on, despite Nina’s presence. “Which brings us to the more immediate issue. What, exactly, did Tucker do?” Ed felt Nina shudder in his arms at the question, and started stroking her back, hoping to offer some comfort, because he wasn’t going to play down the shit the man had pulled to spare her.

“Where do I fucking start?” Ed groused.

“At the beginning?” Truth snarked.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Right, okay, the beginning. So. Uh, two years ago, that chimera Tucker made? That, uh, that was his wife.” He began, and Mustang sat bolt upright in some combination of outrage and disgust. “I suspected, you know, when you mentioned a talking chimera.” He went on, not letting the man get a word in edgeways. “Because there were only two ways I could think for him to have done that, made a chimera that could actually do proper grammar and shit. One was taking the language-processing centers from a human brain, and the other was knowing enough about brain structure and biochemistry and fucking neurotransmitters to fabricate a functional language-processing center.”

Mustang frowned. “Neuro…transmitters?” He echoed uncertainly.

Ed gave him a very pointed look. “Yeah.” He agreed. “I didn’t think he’d have that much knowledge without outside assistance, either.” He lifted the hand that Truth was still hovering over pointedly. Mustang made a reluctantly agreeable sort of face. “Turns out, it was both. He was trying so damn hard to mutilate his wife that he accidentally ripped the world apart and freed Mania.” Nina let out a sob at that, and Ed winced. “Shit, sorry.”

“Alright.” Mustang said calmly, although there was strain showing around his eyes. “But that was two years ago. What about tonight? I would very much like an explanation for all of that, because I’m still not quite sure I can believe what I think I saw.”

Ed took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a brief moment to recite a silent litany of Don’t wanna don’t wanna don’t wanna you can’t make me! inside his head before steeling himself to do it anyway. “I don’t have a clue how we got from there to here, honestly, but I figure Tucker thought that the- the symbiotes were a more impressive research project or something, because near as I can figure, he was trying to get Mania to- to spawn.”

“Going by the number of… occupied jars, we would say he’s been inducing Mania to spawn in substandard conditions for the last year at least. There are at least three nests worth of infants there.” Truth interjected. “Possibly more, given that this time, Mania only produced three offspring, rather than the more usual numbers.”

Al had both his hands over his mouth now. Ed ploughed on, because if he didn’t keep going now that he’d started, he’d never get through this. “I figure that’s what we walked in on tonight. He’d let Mania possess Alexander, and it had spawned.” Just the memory of that first look made Ed shudder with remembered horror. He wanted to close his eyes, but if he did that, he’d just see it again on the back of his eyelids, so instead, he stared at Mustang’s gloved hands and talked. He explained, as best he could the way Tucker asked Nina to hold one, and how Truth had sent it back to the gate, and how Tucker had put Mania back in a jar and monologued, how one of the babies had tried to eat Tucker by possessing Alexander, how Ed had pulled it out of Alexander, and-

“I ate him.” Nina interrupted, and her words silenced the room like a shout, even though they were barely audible, said in a strange, timid monotone. “I- I ate A-Alexand-der!” She sobbed, curling into Ed and starting to cry, jagged and breathless, into his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ed said, and then wanted to smack himself. It was so very obviously not okay that saying that was only going to make shit worse. “Look, Alexander… he was already dead. You know that, right? You- you didn’t hurt him, okay?”

“I- I d-didn’t m-mean to.” Nina wailed. “I- W-we were j-just s-so hungry!”

“I know.” Ed assured her, and he did. He really, really did. Truth was old, ancient, and had the self-control to warn Ed before they reached the point of a starving newborn desperate for a first proper meal, but… he remembered just how hungry Truth had been at the beginning, after centuries of not-quite hibernation in the space between the fabric of the world. “I know. It’s not your fault, Nina. You- Neither of you are to blame for wanting to live, okay?”

That just made Nina wail even louder. Ed supposed it wasn’t very convincing coming from the guy who’d disintegrated two of her… symbiote’s sibling for that exact reason. “I w-want my Daddy!” Nina cried, and Ed grimaced, eyes flicking up to meet Mustang’s in a plea for help.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Mustang said, which at least meant Ed didn’t have to say it, but it wasn’t exactly helpful.

“We want our Daddy!” Nina insisted, and Ed felt a little chill run down his spine at the sudden shift to plural pronouns. His fears were only confirmed when her next repetition came out echoing and distorted; “You- you can’t send him away, too! We want our Daddy!”

Ed gaped, trying desperately to find the right words to explain why Nina wasn’t going to get to see her dad for a really long time, if Ed had anything to say about it, but there weren’t really words for that, were there? At least, not ones that wouldn’t hurt. Abruptly, Al got to his feet and left the room. “Al?” Ed called after him, but he got no response.

Looking deeply wary, Mustang got to his feet. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” He said, almost absently, to Ed, and followed Al out the door. Ed was left sitting there holding a sobbing girl who was begging for the father that had tried to eat her earlier this evening, wondering what the fuck was going on.

He wasn’t left to stew in his confusion for long, because Al was back within a couple of minutes, and he was carrying one of those awful jars. The one, Ed realised a moment later, with Mania still trapped inside. “Here.” Al said quietly, coming over and holding the jar out to Nina. “You can’t take the lid off right now, but… you can keep hold of it, if you want.”

Nina peeked out at him, let out another huge sob, and held out her hands in a very clear ‘gimme’ gesture. Feeling entirely nonplussed, Ed watched Al hand the jar over, watched Nina handle it with extreme caution until she had it securely in her arms, and watched as she cuddled it to her chest like it was her favourite teddy-bear while she continued to sob much more quietly.

We can’t let her keep it. Truth thought sadly.

Why the fuck not? It’s not hurting anyone in there. Ed retorted, deeply unwilling to take yet another thing away from Nina right now.

You want to leave it in that awful thing? Cramped and alone? Truth challenged.

The Gate looked pretty fucking cramped to me, too, and it’s not alone, it’ll have Nina and its baby. With the upside of no one’s going to fucking eat it while it’s in there. And don’t tell me that’s not a danger inside the Gate. That blue one was perfectly happing chewing on you.

That plasma could kill it.

I’m not saying it’s ideal, but the Gate isn’t exactly idea either, if you ask me, but it’s not a terrible solution for now, if it keeps Nina a little bit less traumatised. Ed didn’t really know what to do. Those jars had to be at least a little bit painful; they were too small for an adult-sized symbiote, and pressing into the glass had to be agony. It did seem cruel to leave a sentient creature locked up in one, but the Gate seemed pretty cruel, too.

Truth suddenly projected a sense of surprise and acceptance, a sort of huh, okay and when Ed responded with a questioning sort of feeling, it drew his attention back down to the jar. The jar in which Mania had stopped thrashing quite so violently. Instead, it was pulsing gently, not the unthinking twitches of the dead babies, but like a little heartbeat just beyond the second layer of glass.

“Huh.” Ed said, staring. If he hadn’t felt so drained, he would have smiled. “That settles that, then.”

“On the contrary.” Mustang interjected, recapturing Ed’s attention. He looked up with a glare, because if the man thought he was just going to let him take this away from Nina after everything she’d been through, he had another thing coming. Mustang stared back, uncowed and unreadable, fingers laced in front of his mouth again. “The military is going to have a very big problem with the idea of letting a civilian child keep hold of an unknown sentient species.”

Ed stiffened as he remembered exactly who this man was. He opened his mouth, ready to let loose a furious tirade, but Truth stopped him before he could get started. “You will not gain the renown of recruiting such a young and talented alchemist if we’re locked up in a lab somewhere.” It told Mustang calmly, which was definitely more diplomatic than what Ed had been planning to say. Mustang’s eyebrows rose. “If we let it get that far. Which we would not.” Ed grinned, sharp and feral.

Then he caught sight of a tiny crinkle at the corner of Mustang’s eye that could only be there if the bastard was smiling. “I didn’t say I would agree with them.” He pointed out smugly. “But it is going to be a problem, one that we’re going to need a solution for.”

Ed stared at him, thrown off-balance by such a rapid turn around. “You’re going to help us hide this shit?” He checked.

Mustang nodded, his smile dying. “I won’t claim to be a good man, Elric, but I like to hope that I have my limits, and condemning children to the life of a lab rat is on the far side of what I can live with.” He explained. Then brushed that moment of sincerity aside with nothing more than a straightening of his posture. “Obviously, we can’t tell them the truth, but we’re going to need to come up with a very convincing cover story.”

“Why do we need one?” Al asked.

Ed turned to scowl at him. “Haven’t you been listening, Al?”

Al shook his head, but not in answer to Ed’s question. “No, I mean… even if you take out the symbiotes, we don’t actually need to lie to make sure Tucker will get arrested. Especially not if- if Nina can’t be found.” He pointed out. Ed blinked, and reshuffled everything he knew about what Tucker had done to remove all the parts involving the symbiotes. He remembered the scene in the lab downstairs, and realised that Al was right.

“It’s a good idea.” Truth agreed. “It may even be useful.”

“Useful how?” Mustang challenged at once.

Truth grinned at him. To Mustang’s credit, his only reaction was a faint widening of his eyes and a tensing of his hands where they were laced together. “Those who do not know of us will assume Nina was destroyed in an attempt to create another talking chimera. Those who do will suspect that she became a host and ran off. If someone wants to look for her, then we will know that they know.”

Mustang inclined his head thoughtfully. “We will suspect, at the very least.” He hedged, but it was close enough to an agreement that Truth felt perfectly satisfied. “But that still leaves me with several questions.” He pointed out, lifting one hand to tick the points off on his fingers. “I will need somewhere the military won’t think to look for Nina to stay. I will need to dispose of the… remains of the other symbiotes downstairs. And, then, of course, I will need to find somewhere else for the two of you to stay.” He paused, eyes narrowing faintly, and then addressed Truth. “Do your people have any particular customs in regards to death rights and burial?”

Ed blinked. He hadn’t expected that level of respect, and going by how quietly floored Truth felt inside of him, still and shocked and aching in some indefinable way, neither had Truth. Then it was flooded with wry humour. “Thank you for that, Mustang.” It said wryly. “You may have less respect for our, as you call them, burial customs when you know what they are.”

Mustang raised his eyebrows, and opened his mouth to ask, but Ed, who was getting the thought-memory-knowledge directly from Truth’s mind, said very suddenly; “That’s disgusting.”

“What is?” Al pressed, while Mustang’s eyebrows just inched higher on his forehead.

“We eat our dead.” Truth informed them.

Al recoiled. “Oh.” He said, weak and wavering, looking nauseous.

“It’s not as if humans are strangers to cannibalism, either.” Mustang pointed out, although he didn’t sound entirely sanguine with the whole idea. Al pulled a face that very clearly said he didn’t want to accept that as truth, even if he knew it was.

“We begin and end our lives that way. It is fitting. Besides, it is not as if we decompose the same way your people do. Your cities would still be littered with our dead if we did not recycle them for you.” Truth pointed out, amused, but it was only on the surface. Underneath, there was an aching sense of loss and sorrow.

I’m really not okay with that, just so you know. Ed pointed out internally, not quite wanting to have this conversation out loud. But the idea of having to consume those things, knowing what they were, made him feel sick to his stomach. Isn’t there anything else we can do with them?

It would be an entirely avoidable waste. Truth retorted, with no small amount of disgust at the concept. They deserve more respect than that.

Eating them is respectful now?! Ed thought in disbelief.

More respectful than simply destroying them, rendering all of that substance and energy a pointless waste of resources. All living things consume and are consumed in their turn. To deny a creature their rightful place in that cycle is an abomination.

Ed’s guts squirmed unpleasantly. I take your point, I guess, but I don’t know if I can, okay?

He got the very distinct sense that if Truth had eyes, it would be rolling them at him. Coward.

Asshole. Ed retorted.

“It would make Ed less squeamish if you could burn them, Mustang.” Truth said, tone distinctly derisive. Ed mentally jabbed at it in retort. It jabbed him back, clearly unhappy with him.

Mustang looked between them thoughtfully, and leaned back in his chair. “I will, if that is what you’d prefer, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with your customs against your wishes.” He said coolly. “Perhaps…” He couldn’t quite keep the grimace off his face as he went on, but he did say it, which was more than Ed could ever have managed. “…perhaps one of the others could, if Elric is unwilling to participate?” He suggested, nodding towards Nina and Mania.

Ed’s stomach dropped like a lead weight at the thought of asking Nina to do something like that after everything. He shook his head violently over Truth’s Oh, I really like him and Nina’s quiet whimper and flinch.

“Fine, I’ll do it, just-” He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and glared at the table. “Just let’s not put Nina through that on top of everything else.”

Nina’s hand grabbed for his arm, gripping with the sort of strength that made Ed think it wasn’t just Nina doing the grabbing. “But we’re hungry.” She whispered. Ed was really starting to get creeped out by the plural pronouns she kept using. “We don’t want- But- Brother, we’re h-hungry.” Ed wanted to cry, wanted to rage and scream at Nina being reduced to this, having to deal with this. He half expected Truth to point out that she wouldn’t have to if Ed hadn’t been a bleeding heart and had just sent all the symbiotes to the Gate, but that thought came in his own voice, not Truth’s.

You were right. Truth told him, silently radiating a sense of regret and sorrow mingled with a strange sort of lightness Ed didn’t quite have a name for. I had gotten so used to the Gate being the only solution, I had begun to forget what we used to be. What we ought to be. What we, perhaps… could learn to be again. Ed buried his face in Nina’s hair, trying not to let himself get swept up in relief at the notion that maybe he hadn’t fucked up too badly in that one instance.

“Okay.” Ed whispered to Nina, because he was going to have to help her deal with this, with having a symbiote and that endless gnawing hunger. And he was going to have to… deal with the symbiote, too, a child who knew nothing but instincts to consume, and he was going to have to help Truth guide it to better practices than eating the brains of other sentient, living creatures. The fact that the idea of eating the baby symbiotes was profoundly disturbing to him was probably not something he ought to pass on to her, if Truth was right about how symbiotes usually behaved.

I wouldn’t lie about it. Truth protested, deeply offended by the very notion.

“If that’s all sorted, then?” Mustang prompted, looking between Ed, Nina, and Al pointedly. Ed nodded. “I’m going to call in reinforcements and arrange places to stay for everyone. You two-” He nodded towards Ed and Al. “-should see about bringing up the jars.” Which was a very good idea, in Ed’s opinion. It was one thing to get Nina to eat the corpses of her not-siblings, it was another to make her walk through the carnage in the lab to do it. “Try to avoid disturbing anything else, and please dispose of the jars once you’re done.” Mustang concluded his instructions.

They left Nina in the hall with Mustang while he rang his people, and set about bringing up the jars one armload at a time. Once they had them all laid out in the living room, Nina crept in to join them looking so damn broken, hollow eyed and pale and hunched in on herself, that Ed had to fight the urge to be sick. Is there any sort of… ceremony to this? He asked Truth.

Not particularly. Truth replied with a mental shrug.

That’s bullshit. Ed replied as he beckoned Nina over to sit with him and tucked her under his arm. “Okay.” Ed said again, and then reached out to the first jar and deactivated the array. Immediately, the eerie light faded, and the symbiote inside stopped twitching. It lay still, a puddle of lifeless matter at the bottom of the inner bulb. He unscrewed the lid and tipped it out into the palm of his hand. It was cold and slick, like holding a palm-full of jelly. He felt like he ought to say something, make this more of a memorial than a snack, but he couldn’t think of what to say.

Just eat it. Truth thought tiredly.

Ed raised his hand to his mouth and pushed the ball of alien viscera into his mouth. At least Truth had the courtesy to swallow for him, because he couldn’t have convinced himself to do it, or even worse, bitten into the thing. He opened the next jar, and, hating himself more with every passing second, tipped the thing inside into Nina’s shaking palm. “It’s kind of like swallowing a water balloon.” Ed told her.

Nina gave a startled, hysterical little giggle, all but threw the thing into her mouth, and then burst into tears. Ed tugged her closer, and wished he felt he could join her. Wordlessly, with tears streaking silently down his own cheeks, Al proffered up the next one.

#Fullmetal Alchemist #Venom AU #Edward Elric #Roy Mustang #alien symbiote #Truth #Nina Tucker #Alphonse Elric #I'm honestly having so much fun writing this #and traumatising everyone #Roy really just wants to go somewhere private and scream #but he can't #he has to be the responsible adult

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guildwars Love Story

(Contains trigger warnings: alcohol usage, sexual assault)

Chapter 2

Cruel, green eyes gazed deeply into Amalthia's amber-gold orbs as she struggled to break free of her leader's grasp.  The heavy breathing emanating from his nostrils rose and fell as his body shook with a rhythmic guttural, purring sound.   "Go ahead and scream little kitten.  Nobody will hear you.  In fact, nobody will even care."

Rodin Talonrend and Amalthia Rendfoe were the last surviving members of the Rend warband.  During a routine patrol on the Plains of Ashford, Flame Legion snipers ambushed their warband.  Out of the six members, only three made it out alive.  One of the survivors was also severely injured.  

Since Rodin elected to scout on ahead, Amalthia was given the task of tending to her wounded bandmate.  Their brief respite was shattered when a squad of Flame Legion soldiers spotted them.  Amalthia struggled to convey her injured comrade to safety.  But due to her somewhat diminutive size - at least by charr standards - she found the task more of a struggle than she had imagined.  Rodin returned only to see his remaining bandmate about to be shredded by the enemy. With his last gasp of breath, Dorvak Rendfear told Amalthia to leave him and to save herself.  Try as she might, she was unable to heave his heavy body upon her back.  She simply lacked the physical strength to do so.  Although Rodin managed to lay down some covering fire to help Amalthia escape, he never forgave her for her physical weakness and took every opportunity to remind her of that fact.  

"Damn you!  One of these days when you forget to tie me up properly, I will exploit that chance then I'll slice off your vitals with my fungal-infected claws!"

*** Amalthia awoke, her body shaking from the aftereffects of the nightmare.  She breathed heavily in attempt to evaporate the sweat that was pouring off her tongue.   Next time, I will go easy on the mead before downing a whole side of steak, she thought to herself.

"Amalthia!" Came the deep bellowing voice of her sire, Ludrick Crushblow, from downstairs.  "Is everything alright?" "Everything's peachy keen, sire.  Just having a rape fantasy, that's all," she said laconically as she loped on all fours onto the floor then began a series of stretches.  

"What did you just say?"  She could hear his voice echo through her upstairs room.

"The loud boom booms from the wars you fought in must have dampened all four of your ears.  I said that I had a fungal-infected dream, that's all." Ludrick facepalmed knowing full well what she had initially said.  "If everything is good then get down here.  I need some help carrying those beef sides to the chopping block." "I'll be down there in a frizzen flash." Amaltia's father was confined to walking on a cane thanks, in no small part, to an Ebonblade soldier's hammer sundering his right foot some twenty-five years ago.  The wound never fully healed but he managed to do his best to remain independent.  At least that was until Amalthia wound up knocking on the door of his flourishing butcher shop when she told him that she was exiled from her warband.  Since she was his only surviving cub, he simply did not have the heart to turn her away.  

Over the course of the next three years, she became his valuable assistant in running the day-to-day operations of his marketplace.  She helped him expand his shop to include a section that was filled with all sorts of exotic herbs and spices from all over Tyria.  The only things she asked in return was a workbench so she could hone her engineering skills (as she was part of Iron Legion) and a firing range in the back yard.   She helped her father unhook the massive sides of beef as they both laid them out in staggered rows across the thick oak chopping table.  Once the pieces had been arranged, Amalthia lit the boiler then opened the pressure relief valves.  As the pressure began to build, a shrill grinding sound began emanating between the deep grooves in the table.   With the pull of a lever, a massive saw blade rose between the oaken blocks.  Ludrick nodded to his daughter as they began to slide the first slab over the spinning teeth.   "That's twenty sides in five days.  Not a bad haul if I do say so myself," her father said with glee.   "Since the treaty, business has been booming.  Who would have thought we would be supplying both charr and human? Oh the irony of peace," Amalthia chuckled as she helped her father pull along the next side into the blade.   "Peace? It's just damn good business, that's all.  Even before the treaty, everyone could see that things were winding down.   That's why I set up shop in Triskell Quay.  People here are a little more tolerant of our kind, plus we still have the ports to ship our products to all regions of Kryta and Ascelon." "I still keep wondering if any of the humans around here have caught onto our little not-so-tightly-kept secret.  I mean this place ships five-times as much meat products in one-third the time.  And how did we lose Ascelon, again?" Amalthia quipped. "Um, Foefire."  Ludrick laughed.   His daughter chuckled as she began quartering a flank into smaller portions using the saw. "Magic and religion are crutches for idiots.  Acetylene and alloy brings home the gold any day of the week." Both father and daughter then hurled the severed chunks into various sized bins each according to cut and quality.  Amalthia swapped out the large-toothed saw blade for a fine-toothed one then proceeded to make the various bone-in cuts of meat.   "Heh!  Your dam would probably get a kick out of you saying that.  Hell, she might even crack a smile for once." "Her face would shatter into a thousand tiny bits if it did.  I don't think that bitch has a happy bone in her body." "Amalthia!  You should not speak about your mother, I mean dam, like that!"  Ludrick chided. "Human vernacular has started to rub off on you, hasn't it father. Ha!  Couldn't resist that one!"  Amalthia said with a smile that ended in an upraised curl to her lips that prominently displayed her large upper canines.

Ludrick's ears lowered.  "When you have mice bringing in their squealing piglets all the time asking 'mommy can I have this' and 'daddy can I have that' it kind of rubs off on ya.  Anyway, calling someone a 'bitch' is just wrong." Amalthia pursed her lips then raised a clawed finger to her mouth.  "Ah.  I see.  So calling my dam a bitch, even though she is a bitch, is just plain wrong.  Yup.  No more calling that bitch, a bitch.  Got it!"   "Now you're just being obnoxious.  Have you been drinking again?"  Her father chuffed. "Well, perhaps just a little swig or two.  Oh.  I can be a bitch if you want.  Even your bitch." Her father planted his leather-padded hand over his face.  "Ugh!  Do you even have any idea just how wrong that sounds?  I think you need to study up more on human colloquialisms.  That mouth of yours is going to doom us both." "Funny thing.  My primus said almost exactly the same thing.  He said that I was the only cub in the fahrar who had a chronic case of north-end diarrhea because I was always running off at the mouth.  Hence my nickname, Amouthia." "Shut up and cut the damn meat, cub!" Amalthia began to slowly and silently spell out the word that had become a bone of contention in their conversation.   Her father let out a deep growl.  "I'm not playing this game anymore.  You're just a bored cub with no direction in your future.  I'm done for today! Sort the product and clean up this mess when you're done.  Dammit! I'm getting a drink." Ludrick plunged his knife into a strip steak he was cutting then stomped off without saying anything further.   For her part, Amalthia simply stood in the corner and sighed.  

I hate myself for being in love with myself sometimes, she thought as she began to make short work of the remaining cuts of meat. Gah! People take things way too seriously.  I wish they would understand that it is just my own way of communicating with them... my own way of dealing with... Amalthia removed her butcher's smock, threw it to the far end of the cutting room then sank down onto the floor as rivulets of tears began to well up in her amber eyes.  She knew that the sun would be setting soon and there would be an extra liter of mead stored in the cooler waiting just for her.  

#tyrias-library #gw2 fanfic #kaleb and amalthia #gw2 adult #the outliers #guild wars 2 fanfic #gw2 stories